


Wherever the Wind Blows

by thecommodore_squid (orphan_account)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Angst, Bucky is Bert, Discussion of Past Deaths, Espionage, F/M, Fighting, For Once Necromancy Saves the Day, Happy Ending, Jk No Civil War Here, M/M, Magic, OR IS HE, Pining, Science vs Magic: WHOSE SIDE ARE YOU ON, Separation Anxiety, Steve Rogers is Mary Poppins, Steve-centric, True Love is Real, Wishing, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 11:34:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5162414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thecommodore_squid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Children were getting stubborn. They didn’t require his services anymore. So, he was about to go away for a very long time.”</p><p>“Okay...”</p><p>“What? You don’t believe me?”</p><p>“No! It’s just that- he can’t just go away. Where do magical people even go when they’re not being magical with us?”</p><p>“It’s a terrible, wonderful place. They call it Zone 21.”</p><p>AKA<br/>A fantasy AU in which Steve Rogers is Mary Poppins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wherever the Wind Blows

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not really sure how this AU happened. I swear, all I wanted to do was imagine Steve in Bucky in Mary Poppins aesthetic. (Note: When I was doing a bit of research for this, I found out that the Banks parents' names are GEORGE AND WINIFRED LIKE IF THAT'S NOT FATE THEN IDK WHAT IS.)
> 
> I'm still not sure how I feel about this fic. Nevertheless, I do hope you guys enjoy it.
> 
> Also, I'd just like to warn you guys that this fic is pretty Steve-Centric. Just so you know, Bucky isn't actually physically present for the first part of it, but he isn't absent either, if that makes any sense.
> 
> Comments and kudos never fail to make my day!

_“Mother, will you tell us the story of Steve Rogers?”_

 

“Ask nicely...”

 

 _“Is that really necessary-? Ugh. Fiiiiine. Mother, will you_ please _tell us the story of Steve Rogers?”_

 

“Of course I will.”

 

_“Will you tell us the version where he’s the hero?”_

 

“My dear, as if another version exists...”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Wherever the wind blows, right?”

 

Steve turned, already trying to smother a smile. “Don’t you know it,” he teased, letting his eyes comb over the figure before him.

 

Bucky Barnes grinned, leaning on the chimney at his back as he twirled his chimneysweep’s broom. “So... Where to now, Mr. Rogers?”

 

Steve fiddled with his red umbrella, going for a flippant shrug. “I don’t know, Mr. Barnes. Wherever the wind blows.”

 

Bucky scoffed, looking heavenward. “Or, you know, gone forever.”

 

Steve watched carefully as Bucky fidgeted, reaching a hand up to adjust the brim of his hat. It was one of those dumb hats that looked like they belonged to a newsie. “Come on, Buck,” Steve sighed. “You know I always come back.”

 

Bucky wrinkled his nose. “I have a bad feeling.”

 

Steve abandoned the handle of his bag, leaning his umbrella against it as he strode the few steps between him and Bucky. He almost grabbed Bucky’s hands but barely stopped himself, instead tucking them behind his back. “It’s about the magic, isn’t it?”

 

Bucky averted his gaze. “Kids don’t need Steve Rogers anymore,” Bucky whispered faintly.

 

Steve swallowed heavily. He felt it in the air as well. “I guess I’ll just have to hope that that’s a good thing, huh, Buck?”

 

“I want to go with you,” Bucky admitted quietly, still not meeting his eyes.

 

Steve bit his lip. “I wish.”

 

“What if you put me in that magic bag of yours?”

 

Steve smiled sadly. “You’d totally die.”

 

Bucky smirked hollowly. “You underestimate how stubborn I am.”

 

Steve laughed quietly. “I really don’t. I mean, it’s not like you’re as stubborn as _me_ , but it’s a pretty close second.”

 

Bucky offered Steve a glare with no heat. “Fuck you, Stevie. I’m amazingly stubborn.”

 

Before he could stop himself, Steve reached out and pinched the brim of Bucky’s hat, letting his hand linger for a moment. “Yeah. You are,” he said softly.

 

Bucky swallowed. “You’re making me emotional,” he complained.

 

“It’s not that hard, you know. You’re sappy enough that I don’t even have to try.”

 

“You’re such an asshole,” Bucky sighed, visibly wilting.

 

Steve grabbed both of Bucky’s shoulders, steadying him as he leveled him with a serious look. “Hey. I’ll be back. You know that, right?”

 

Bucky pursed his lips. “Just get out of here already.”

 

With a terrible pang of hurt resounding through his chest, Steve released Bucky’s shoulders and stepped away. “Right. Don’t do anything stupid ‘til I get back.”

 

Before he could take another step away, Bucky had grabbed him again and yanked Steve into his chest, crushing them in a tight hug. “How can I?” he murmured, “You’re taking all the stupid with you. Punk.”

 

Steve smiled sadly against Bucky’s neck, tucking his face towards him to just breathe him in for one last moment. “Jerk,” he murmured, breath ghosting against Bucky’s skin. Bucky shivered a little.

 

They could both feel something different about this time.

 

They finally stepped away form each other, Steve popping his umbrella open as Bucky watched, shoving hands into his pockets.

 

As Steve let the wind take him away, Bucky saluted him.

 

Steve tried not to think of it as a final good-bye.

 

* * *

 

 

_“You’re telling us the version with Bucky, right?”_

 

“Don’t sound so impatient. Of course I am. What kind of mother do you take me for?”

 

_“Good. Bucky’s my favorite.”_

 

 

* * *

 

 

The winds were so cold, and Steve’s eyes kept drifting shut.

 

His fingers were essentially frozen in their death grip on the red umbrella. He could feel the ice crystals on his eyelashes. His teeth chattered. It was all numb.

 

Steve wasn’t sure why he was hanging on to consciousness. The only thing he was sure of was that somewhere, _his_ Bucky was worrying about whether or not they’d ever see each other again- worrying about magical politics and the state of children’s happiness and Steve Rogers’ fate in it all.

 

So, Steve was trying to stay awake, even though that never deterred the winds. They always took him eventually.

 

And they did, in the form of gusting him into a hailstorm. A particularly large chunk of ice collided with Steve’s face, and the world faded out.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_“Steve was in trouble, right?”_

 

“Yes, he was.”

 

_“Why? I forget.”_

 

“Children were getting stubborn. They didn’t require his services anymore. So, he was about to go away for a very long time.”

 

_“Okay...”_

 

“What? You don’t believe me?”

 

 _“No! It’s just that- he can’t just go away. Where do magical people even_ go _when they’re not being magical with us?”_

 

“It’s a terrible, wonderful place. They call it Zone 21.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Is he alive?”

 

The words registered blearily through Steve’s mind.

 

“How the fuck would I know?”

 

“You’re supposed to be observant or some shit.”

 

“Was that a snide comment, ‘Tash? I’m proud of you. I really am. You’re growing as an individual.”

 

“Shut the fuck up.”

 

Steve groaned softly, squeezing his eyes shut before trying to pry them open. The more masculine voice actually yelped, and the noise seemed to be sucked out of wherever-he-was for a moment.

 

“Holy shit. He’s fucking alive.”

 

Steve blinked blearily, trying desperately to orient himself. A stab of panic went through him. “Where’s Bucky?” he murmured, confused and upset and not knowing why.

 

Two figures peered anxiously over him. One was a stubbly man with messy blonde hair and a face that looked as if it had just emerged from a fight. The other was a redheaded woman with elegant features and a blank expression. “Damn,” the man whistled.

 

“Clint,” the woman warned.

 

Clint leaned out of Steve’s view. “I know, I know,” he grumbled.

 

The woman helped Steve struggle into a sitting position. He was on a boat. Why the fuck was he on a boat? “I’m Natasha,” the woman said quietly. “Who are you?”

 

Steve coughed, feeling the movement resonate through his chest. “Um. Steve. I’m Steve.”

 

Clint was balanced restlessly on the balls of his feet, crouching and staring warily at Steve. “’Tash, remember when you praised my gut instincts?”

 

Natasha looked at Clint blankly.

 

“They’re telling me that this is bad.”

 

Natasha rolled her eyes, lips quirking into something fond. “When has that stopped us before? Come on. We’re helping Steve.”

 

Steve was still extremely confused and disoriented. “Where’s Bucky?” he asked, a little more desperately.

 

“Who the fucky is Bucky?” Clint asked, smiling faintly at himself.

 

“My...” Steve trailed off, glancing around at the vacant deck. “My best friend.”

 

“Steve,” Natasha said carefully, “We’re a little bit at a loss as to who _you_ are, much less someone who we’ve only heard you mention. I think you probably have bigger problems than your best friend at this point.”

 

“That was mean,” Clint said.

 

“That was honest.”

 

Steve dropped his head back against the side of the boat, closing his eyes. “Where am I?” he asked.

 

“Um. Zone 21?” Clint said.

 

“What the fuck is that?”

 

Natasha laid a hand on his shoulder. Steve opened his eyes to see her humorless smirk. “It’s the land where all your dreams come true.”

 

Steve’s heart sank. He didn’t even know why.

 

* * *

 

 

_“Mother, I don’t understand. Why does the story start here?”_

 

“You said you wanted to hear the version with Bucky Barnes.”

 

_“Well- yes.”_

 

“Do you really want to listen to a tale you’ve heard a thousand times? Do you want to hear about how Steve Rogers sets insolent children on the right path through a series of clever events?”

 

_“I don’t know.”_

 

“Well, today I’m telling you something different. I’m telling you about what Steve Rogers did when his job essentially expired.”

 

_“But why?”_

 

“Because it’s important.”

 

_“Is this going to be an adventure story?”_

 

“My dear, it’s going to be an adventure story, a story of love, and a story of finding those who are lost.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Steve felt lost.

 

“I have a question,” he said suddenly.

 

Natasha and Clint jumped, whirling around to face him. It was the first thing Steve had said in hours. Maybe days.

 

“What happened to Zone 20?”

 

Clint frowned. “It was destroyed. How could you not know?”

 

“Maybe he escaped Zone 20 just in time and that’s why he was practically comatose,” Natasha said with a shrug.

 

Steve felt nauseous. “It’s all gone?”

 

Clint and Natasha nodded in unison.

 

“Oh.”

 

The numbness was starting to set in completely. Steve hardly registered Clint and Natasha exchanging concerned glances.

 

“You okay?” Natasha asked softly.

 

Steve looked at his lap. “Um,” he whispered, “Bucky. Bucky was probably there.”

 

“Look. Steve. Zone 20 has been gone for fifteen years now. Your friend is probably even longer gone than you think.”

 

Steve looked up sharply. “Fifteen years?”

 

Clint looked uncomfortable. “Well. Yeah. It was deteriorating for a while before then, but it’s been gone for that long.”

 

Steve took a deep breath. This was not happening to him.

 

“Who even are you?” Clint blurted out as if he couldn’t help himself.

 

Steve looked at him warily. “Steve Rogers.”

 

Clint’s mouth fell open. Natasha’s eyes widened. “ _The_ Steve Rogers? As in, A-Spoonful-of-Sugar-Helps-the-Medicine-Go-Down Steve Rogers?”

 

Steve shrugged. “Yeah. Why?” he said slowly.

 

“Dude!” Clint said. “Nobody’s heard about you for like seventy years!”

 

Steve’s lips parted in shock. “ _Seventy years_?”

 

* * *

 

 

_“Why seventy? Why not one-hundred?”_

 

“Because it took seventy years for the magical world to need Steve Rogers again.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Steve had spent most of the rest of the boat ride in shell-shocked silence.

 

He was thankful that Natasha and Clint seemed to understand and didn’t really speak to him. Steve would’ve felt completely rude if he’d had to make small talk or some shit in a situation like this.

 

What even was his situation?

 

Wherever the wind blows? What kind of fucking gust of wind would push him seventy years into the future and into a new Zone-? a Zone without Bucky.

 

“Hey. We’ve gotta go.”

 

Steve blinked back to himself, raising his gaze to lock eyes with Natasha. He glanced around him. They had reached land. “Oh,” he mumbled, shoving to his feet.

 

Natasha put a hand on Steve’s elbow to steady him while Clint glared speculatively from the other side of the ship.

 

Steve shook Natasha off as soon as they were on the dull sand of the beach.

 

A little while of walking later, and Steve was beginning to feel even worse.

 

Zone 21 was so much duller than Zone 20. The colors were muted and dark, and the surroundings sometimes even verged on horrifically nightmarish. It was as if somebody had pulled rough caricatures from the Fairy Tale books, twisted them up into something almost frightening, and thrown them all into a jumble of a world.

 

Steve didn’t speak as they walked. He merely trailed after Clint and Natasha, who slipped nearly silently through the crowds in with a sort of ambiguous animosity that Steve envied. He’d give anything to abandon his bright blue waistcoat and bright red bowtie right now.

 

(He’d never give up the stunningly red umbrella or the infinite, oddly shaped case, though.)

 

Steve started to really pay attention to his surrounding, and a chill crawled up his spine. The more he focused, the more apparent it became that this world was a mere shadow of what Zone 20 had been. For lack of a better word, it was just damn _creepy_.

 

His eyes snagged on a wrinkled poster stapled to the side of a building.

 

_WANTED FOR TREASON, ROBBERY, ASSAULT, BREAKING-AND-ENTERING, AND FIRST DEGREE MURDER: ROBIN HOOD._

 

Underneath the description was a drawing of a man wearing a purple bandit’s mask, eyes smirking at the viewer. Robin Hood’s blonde hair was disheveled and vaguely familiar. Steve’s gaze slid over to Clint almost subconsciously, and he frowned. Clint was wearing almost all purple and his hair was a mess.

 

Steve started to look even more closely at the signs posted here and there.

 

_WANTED FOR TREASON, DESTRUCTION OF PROPERTY, ASSAULT, MURDER-_

 

Nope. The picture was of a green, troll-looking thing.

 

_WANTED FOR TREASON, BLACK-MARKETING, UNSOLICITED ACTIVITY, AND PUBLIC MISDEMEANOR-_

 

Nope. This picture was of a handsome man with dark skin.

 

_WANTED FOR TREASON, PIRACY, FIRST DEGREE MURDER, ROBBERY, ASSAULT, PROSTITUTION, KIDNAPPING, AND PERJURY: BLACKBEARD._

 

Steve pursed his lips. The picture below the description was vague at best, and it was a depiction of a man, but the striking red of the hair was enough for his heart to sink as he looked at Natasha’s back.

 

He wanted to slam his head against the wall. This was so unfair. Bucky wasn’t here and he was seventy years out of place and serious criminals had been the ones to find him.

 

He was so fucked.

 

Steve followed Natasha and Clint into a seedy-looking Tavern, Clint shooting him a narrow-eyed look as they approached the bar.

 

Steve returned the look, face set in grim lines.

 

Natasha leaned against the wooden surface of the bar, batting her eyelashes. “A room,” she said, voice low and husky.

 

The bartender winked. “You got it, sweetheart.”

 

Steve followed them up a narrow, rotting set of stairs and into a dark, small room. The bartender left with a heated glance in Natasha’s direction, and Clint sat heavily in a moth-eaten chair, rubbing at his temples.

 

“We’ve gotta do something about his clothes,” he said to Natasha.

 

Natasha gave Steve a critical look. “It’s such a classy look for him, but you’re right. He’s too... much.”

 

Steve looked down at himself. Yeah.

 

“You got any money?” Natasha asked.

 

Clint rolled his eyes. “No.”

 

“Fine. We’ll have to make do.” Natasha looked at Steve for a moment. “Are you responsive right now?”

 

Steve scowled. “Of course I am.”

 

“Good. Take off the waistcoat and bowtie. Do you have an undershirt underneath that dress-shirt? If you do, take the dress-shirt off too. If not, you’re fine the way you are.”

 

Steve did in fact have a thin tank top on underneath his dress-shirt. He would’ve been more self-conscious about putting his shoulders on display for the whole world, but the fancier state of his clothes stood out like a rose among dead grass. With just the tank top and slacks, he would fit in a little better. When he was finished, Natasha gave him an approving look.

 

She sat down on the arm of Clint’s chair, draping her legs across his lap.

 

Steve watched them carefully. “So, who are you guys supposed to be?”

 

It was a question that the citizens of Zone 20 asked frequently to identify the magical persona. Steve hoped the customs hadn’t changed drastically.

 

Natasha smirked. “Who do you want us to be?”

 

Steve looked at his feet for a moment before looking back up. “Tell me the truth.”

 

Clint gave Natasha a meaningful look. “I don’t trust a guy without a dark side,” he whispered.

 

Steve was actually offended. “Excuse you. I have a fucking dark side.”

 

Clint blinked. “Did Steve Rogers just say the fuck word?”

 

Steve’s eyebrows drew together. “Look, I don’t know what preconceptions you two have about me, but I’m not a blushing saint who shelters children from reality.”

 

“You have a dark side,” Natasha said, arching a brow, “You need to prove it.”

 

Steve shrugged. “That’s more of a topic I like to never get into.”

 

Clint was absentmindedly stroking his thumb along Natasha’s calf. “You don’t have to tell us your deepest darkest secret. Just something bad.”

 

Steve frowned, thinking of the children who had died on his watch. He thought of their small faces and everything he could have done to save them, wilting within as their deaths vividly flashed across his vision. He blinked the thoughts away and Bucky’s face surfaced in his mind- flashes of fantasies and longing. He thought of the curl of Bucky’s lip, and that _thing_ he did with his jaw and mouth that drove Steve absolutely insane. He thought about Bucky’s rough but gentle hands cradling his face after a fight as Steve struggled not to turn his head so that his lips brushed Bucky’s palm. Steve blinked, seeing every fight he’d ever gotten into- especially the ones he’d started for all the wrong reasons. He had to suppress a shudder.

 

Going for the safest of the trains of thought, he said quietly, “Well, I start fights just to prove a point.”

 

Natasha and Clint exchanged indecipherable glances. “That’s surprising,” Natasha finally said.

 

Steve narrowed his eyes. “Why is that?”

 

“You’re Steve Rogers,” Clint said simply, lifting a shoulder. “I don’t know if I count that as a dark side, but you obviously do, so we can start trying to form some trust here.”

 

“You can start off by telling me who you’re supposed to be.”

 

There was a long pause of silence.

 

“It’s not like I have anyone else to tell.”

 

Natasha grinned, but it was a sharp grin that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m Blackbeard.”

 

“The pirate,” Steve said slowly. “The male pirate.”

 

“The pirate who destroys enough people easily enough that people are embarrassed to admit they were defeated by a woman.”

 

Steve’s lips quirked, and he saw a glint of triumph flash through Natasha’s eyes.

 

Clint sighed heavily, rubbing a hand across his stubbly jaw. “Aw, Nat, no,” he groaned. “I guess I’m Robin Hood.”

 

Natasha’s eyes lit up. “He steals from the rich and gives to the poor,” she announced in an overly chirpy voice.

 

Clint snorted in delight, lightly swatting at Natasha’s knee. “You’re the worst and I hate you.”

 

“I’m the best and you love me.”

 

“Why did I teach you how have a sense of humor?”

 

Natasha’s eyes sparkled. “You said I was boring.”

 

“So boring,” Clint teased, poking Natasha’s thigh.

 

Steve felt like his chest was caving in. He missed Bucky. Where the hell was Bucky? Was Bucky even alive? Even if he had escaped Zone 20, it seemed unlikely. Seventy years was a long time to wait. And Bucky was an impatient person. He would never wait that long.

 

And here were two outlaws before him, staring at each other as if nothing else in the world existed, all soft smiles and sparkling eyes. The ache behind Steve’s ribs made him feel almost breathless. He sat down slowly at a rickety chair by the small kitchen table.

 

“I think I’m going to go for a walk,” Steve said quietly, knowing that he absolutely did not belong in this moment.

 

Clint barely spared him a glance as he jokingly said, “You’re not gonna turn us in, are you?” but there was a hint of steel under his words.

 

Steve shrugged. “Not until I get the full story.”

 

Natasha gave him an approving once over, and Steve felt like that was dismissal enough. He slunk from the room, having a vague idea to get himself absolutely sledge-hammered drunk.

 

That plan went well for about twenty minutes.

 

Steve was just beginning his third drink when some scuffling caught his attention. He was only a little tipsy- but not in the fun way. He was gloomy and too aware for his own liking, but that didn’t mean he would deliberately ignore trouble.

 

“Who the fuck are you to tell me off like that?” a man snarled, his face pinched in fury and his hands balled into tight fists. Steve sighed.

 

The man facing him looked more irritated that outright furious. Steve’s eyes caught on the deceptively delicate-looking wings that shimmered at his back as he crossed his arms and cocked his head a little. “We had a deal,” he replied levelly.

 

“You can’t dangle this over my head.”

 

“I’m doing no such thing.”

 

“I need it!” the shorter man shouted, almost desperately, as he abruptly lunged for the winged-man, grabbing a fist of his shirt.

 

Winged-Man removed Short-Guy’s grip, more roughly than his demeanor suggested he would. “If you can’t hold up your end of the deal, then you’re going to have to find some other way to get whatever the fuck it is that you ‘need.’” Steve could practically see the hostile air-quotes.

 

“Fuck you. You’re supposed to be benevolent.”

 

Winged-Man’s expression shuttered. “Aren’t you the damn Clever Fox? You’re supposed to find a way around everything.”

 

“Fuck. You,” Short-Guy- apparently the Clever Fox- snapped.

 

It devolved pretty quickly from there into blows. The Clever Fox was the first one to hit, unsurprisingly. Steve heaved to his feet and stepped in, separating them with minimal struggle. The worst he got was a mean right hook to the eye, but that wasn’t terrible for him by any means. Bucky might’ve even cheered if he ever saw that that had been the worst of Steve’s injuries in a fight.

 

(His heart felt like acid in his chest as he remembered that Bucky wouldn’t be cheering. He wasn’t here.)

 

“Cut it out,” Steve said with authority as the Clever Fox and Winged-Man continued to struggle on either side of them. “You’re going to get thrown out of the damn bar.”

 

“Why the fuck would I care?” the Clever Fox spat.

 

“Oh, here we go with the forced apathy. It doesn’t suit you, Tony-“

 

“You’re a fucking hypocrite, Sam! You-“

 

“Oh, everything has to be about you until it’s something too true, doesn’t it-“

 

“-and not to mention the fucking glittery front-“

 

“-goddamn unresolved Daddy issues with-“

 

“-a load of fucking bullshit!”

 

Sam and Tony glared ferociously at each other while Steve tried to figure out what to say in his addled state. “If you guys are gonna be like this, why don’t you take things outside?”

 

Tony gave him a panicked look. “Not safe.”

 

“You’re funny,” Sam said sarcastically at the same time.

 

Steve was a little bit confused as to _why_ , but at that moment, Natasha appeared out of nowhere, smiling with faux-sweetness. “Gentlemen,” she said.

 

Tony looked taken-aback. “Natalie?”

 

Steve looked at Natasha, unimpressed and curious, but she ignored him. “Hi Tony. Hi, whoever-you-are. My colleagues and I have a room upstairs. Much more private for these types of affairs. Care to join us?”

 

Tony and Sam looked warily at each other before reluctantly following Natasha, hissing insults under their breaths as they passed.

 

Steve stood, rooted in the spot for a moment, before going upstairs after them.

 

Tony was sitting on the edge of the suspiciously stained bed, head in his hands and not speaking. Sam was staring blankly out the grimy window, shoulders tense and wings shifting restlessly.

 

Clint sat on the windowsill by Sam and Natasha stood at Tony’s side. Steve had no idea what he’d managed to miss in the two minutes it took him to follow them up here.

 

“He won’t give me the wish,” Tony said hoarsely, voice muffled by his hands.

 

Sam’s eyes flashed. “You didn’t give me what I needed!”

 

Tony seemed to not hear him. “I _miss_ her.”

 

“I _told_ you wishes don’t cover necromancy.”

 

“She’s not dead!” Tony finally raised his head, and his eyes were red.

 

Steve’s lips quirked slightly, without any trace of humor. He knew how Tony felt.

 

Tony caught the gesture and snarled, “What’s your problem? You think it’s funny?”

 

Steve just raised his eyebrows. “No. The aliveness of the most important person in my life is just also in serious question.”

 

Tony’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “She’s not dead,” he repeated.

 

Sam sighed, turning around to scrub at his face. “Tony. I’m sorry about what I said about Pepper. That was low of me.”

 

Tony scowled. “Well, I guess I’m sorry about calling you a cheat.”

 

Sam rolled his eyes. “I _am_ a cheat.”

 

Now Tony was smirking falteringly. “Damn right.”

 

The room was still tense, but it seemed Sam and Tony were tentatively crawling towards something almost familiar or amiable.

 

Clint continued to swing his legs on the windowsill while Natasha relaxed slightly from her spot next to Tony.

 

Sam looked at Steve, almost apologetic. “Sorry we had to meet that way, man. I’m Sam.”

 

“I’m Steve.”

 

“And I’m precious,” Tony said, still smirking.

 

Sam ignored him. “And in case you hadn’t put it together, I’m your resident Fairy Godmother.”

 

Steve’s eyes widened. “Really? I’ve never seen one of you in real life before.”

 

Sam looked a little smug. “What can I say? I’m a gem.”

 

“Yeah, no kidding.”

 

“Please,” Tony scoffed. “Don’t flirt right in front of me. It kills the mood.”

 

Steve froze. “I- I wasn’t. I-“ he managed, throat tightening in panic. What were these people going to say? Were they going to turn him in for sodomy? No. They were outlaws- at least Clint and Natasha were. They’d probably just dump him at the curb with one last look of disgust.

 

But oddly, nobody seemed phased by Tony’s words.

 

“Oh, shit!” Clint said, eyes sharpening as the room looked at him in vague concern. “It’s not illegal here.”

 

Realization dawned on Natasha’s face. “Oh,” she said, glancing at Sam and Tony briefly before looking back to Steve. “Things have changed,” was all she offered.

 

Steve’s eyes narrowed. They couldn’t be saying what he thought they were saying.

 

Tony’s perceptive eyes tracked the conversation until something in his expression cleared a little bit. “He’s not from here, is he?”

 

“Tony,” Sam warned.

 

Natasha and Clint had a conversation with solely their eyes for a moment. “No,” Natasha finally said.

 

Tony looked unreasonably excited. “Really?”

 

“Can we trust you on this? Both of you?” Clint asked Tony and Sam.

 

“Yes!” Tony shouted, springing to his feet. “I’m so trustworthy.”

 

Sam shrugged. “I don’t tell people a whole lot of true things anymore.”

 

Clint nodded to himself. “Cool. Steve, here, is from Zone 20.”

 

Tony shrieked with glee, and Sam’s face went a little bit tense. Steve watched in confusion.

 

Feeling like he had to say something, Steve swallowed and said, “Steve Rogers. Nice to meet you.”

 

The joy disappeared from Tony’s face. “Steve Rogers?” he asked warily. “As in, Wherever-the-Wind-Blows Steve Rogers?”

 

Steve looked at him carefully. “Why the fuck does everybody know all this shit about me?”

 

“You said fuck!” Tony squawked in legitimate shock.

 

“What is it with you people?” Steve demanded. “I’m not a damn nun.”

 

“You said damn!”

 

Steve looked around the room helplessly.

 

Sam sighed. “You’re kind of a legend, Steve,” he told him, almost gently.

 

Steve frowned. “Why? All I did was whip out an umbrella and some magic and tell some kids what to do.”

 

There was an awkward beat of silence.

 

“You just... are?” Clint said awkwardly, glancing at Natasha for help.

 

“It’s just a fairy tale,” she added dismissively.

 

“Yeah. We all are,” Tony muttered bitterly.

 

Steve was still a little bit drunk and rapidly growing more confused. He felt disoriented. He’d been carried by the winds for seventy years. Zone 20 was gone. Bucky was probably long dead.

 

Steve didn’t collapse. He was much too dignified for that. No- he just fell in a controlled manor, landing heavily on his ass and leaning his back against the peeling wallpaper. “I think I want to go home,” he mumbled, mostly to himself.

 

He didn’t register everyone around him looking increasingly alarmed.

 

Steve took a shaky breath, chancing a glance upwards. “I don’t belong here, do I?”

 

The following silence was decidedly uncomfortable. “It’s probably best that you don’t,” Sam finally said. “Zone 21 is a real shitter.”

 

Steve watched as Sam walked over and dropped to sit in front of him, crisscross applesauce. “I don’t need a babysitter,” Steve snapped.

 

Sam held up his hands in a placating gesture. “I never said you did. Frankly, I’m insulted you’d even see me as a babysitter figure. Seriously. I, unlike you, am not good with children.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Like I’d know that from half a conversation.”

 

“You’re supposed to be perceptive and shit. I thought I heard Steve Rogers was like that somewhere.”

 

Steve scoffed, mouth curling upwards despite himself. “I _am_ perceptive,” he argued pointedly.

 

Sam shook his head. “Nuh-uh, man. You’ve gotta convince me now. You’re probably oblivious about everything anyways.”

 

“Hilarious,” he muttered dryly. “I’ve been unconscious for seventy years. Was that some kind of morbid attempt at a joke?”

 

Sam’s eyes gleamed. “I like you.” He turned around, looking at the rest of the room (everybody else looked almost shocked into silence). “I like him,” he repeated.

 

Tony was the first to recover. “I think we could use him.”

 

“Whoa!” Clint said, a bit too loudly, looking panicked. “Who the fuck said anything about a ‘we’?”

 

Tony rolled his eyes, glancing around theatrically. “Look, they don’t call me the Clever Fox for nothing. I’m not a fucking idiot. And, unlike Rogers over there, I have lived in Zone 21 for most of my life.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Sam Wilson’s got his head on the line for quite a few crimes including treason and black-marketing. Natalie Rushman is actually named Natasha Romanoff, but she goes by Blackbeard for her day job. I myself am currently on the run from several authoritarian institutions for various shenanigans. Am I missing anything, _Robin Hood_?”

 

Clint glared at Tony, tense. “You have a lot of nerve.”

 

“Gets me through the day,” Tony said breezily. “Point is, I can turn all of your asses in in exchange for my own potential pardon from the law, but I’ve decided not to do that. I want to see how this plays out.”

 

“What exactly is your goal is this?” Natasha asked, voice curiously devoid of emotion.

 

Tony rolled his eyes. “Same as any. Take down Alexander Pierce.”

 

Steve didn’t know the name, but apparently everyone else did. A chill went through the room. Nobody was making eye contact anymore. Clint was even starting to fidget in discomfort.

 

“Got your interest there, huh?” Tony said sarcastically. “And of course, we’ll be starting small. Mama Rogers over there is our best bet.”

 

Steve looked at Tony helplessly. “I don’t even know what’s happening.”

 

“Exactly!” Tony said triumphantly, pointing as if this proved some sort of grand point. “Ex _act_ ly.”

 

“What’re you onto, man?” Sam asked.

 

“He’s _Steve Rogers_. Straight from Zone 20. Doesn’t know a thing about how everything’s gone to shit. He’s a clean slate. Perfect for Pierce to mold into whatever he desires.” Tony glanced around the room expectantly, but was faced with blank stares. “Anybody see where I’m going with this? No? I’m talking espionage, guys. This is our chance.”

 

“To do what?” Natasha said quietly

 

“First, we need to take down the Ghost.”

 

Clint abruptly shoved to his feet. “Aw, hell, man. I only just met you, and you’re proposing crazy-ass plans of world domination? You want to take down the Ghost? With Steve Rogers? You’re as psycho as they all said you were.”

 

“I’m inspired,” Tony said irritably. “I know what I’m about.”

 

“No offense, but I don’t even think Steve is made for this kind of shit.”

 

Everyone turned to look at him. “You could be a double agent, right?” Natasha asked dismissively, smiling faintly.

 

“Um.”

 

“See? He’s good!” Tony declared. “All I gotta do is call my buddy, Bruce. He’s got the brains and patience to help us out.”

 

“You’re not talking about Bruce Banner, are you?” Sam said warily.

 

“Don’t worry. He hardly ever summons the beast.” Tony reached into his pocket and pulled out some sort of device, tapping it a few times before raising it to his ear. “Brucie! Boy, have I got some news for you...”

 

Clint stared at the room in shock. “The fuck just happened?”

 

Natasha smirked. “I think we’ve been roped into forming a criminal gang of sorts.”

 

“Viva la revolucion!” Sam joked, pumping a fist.

 

“Nat, we can’t take down the fucking Ghost. That’s suicide.”

 

“Yeah, but that’s Steve’s job to worry about.”

 

Steve gaped. “I literally agreed to nothing.”

 

“Told you he wouldn’t do it,” Clint grumbled.

 

Steve narrowed his eyes. “You know what? I take that back. I’ll take down whoever this guy is. What do I have to do? I’ll go right now, if you want.”

 

Clint looked taken aback while Natasha looked delighted. “I’ll brief you. You shouldn’t know too much, though. Pierce wants a clean slate, and I get the vibe that you’re a terrible liar.”

 

Steve blushed. “Am not.” He’d lied to himself for years about loads of things. Guilt, love, regret. Steve was honestly the best person when it came to deluding himself.

 

But he did tend to give himself away when trying to sell something false to other people. It was a wonder Bucky never noticed how Steve was deeply in love with him.

 

Natasha glided over to sit next to Sam. Sam was giving the room a collectively judgmental look, but Steve ignored it.

 

“Okay. So. The Ghost is like the baddest of the bad.”

 

“Oh my god, Nat, you’re not telling the story right!” Clint squeaked, leaping to his feet and coming over to sit next to her.

 

Natasha laughed. It was a low, rough sound that seemed like it rarely got the chance to show itself. “I tell the story fine, but go ahead.”

 

Clint’s eyes lit up. “Most people don’t believe he exists,” he began lowly. “But I’ve seen the evidence. Killings pegged as suicides that are just a tad bit too efficient. Stories smothered by the press. Important speakers dropping like flies.”

 

“As if they just went up in smoke,” Natasha cut in. “Poof. A phantom.”

 

Clint leaned forward eagerly. “He’s a ghost story. An assassin of sorts. Rumor has it he’s been working for Pierce for _decades_. He may have even been killing people in Zone 20.”

 

“He nearly killed me too,” Natasha said, lifting her shirt to show a nasty scar on the jut of her hipbone. “He’s real.”

 

“Most people believe he doesn’t exist,” Clint repeated. “Those people are idiots.”

 

Steve frowned, eyes flicking to Sam, who looked increasingly unimpressed. “So, he’s just an assassin?”

 

Natasha’s eyes gleamed as she leaned into Clint’s side. “Like Clint said. He’s a ghost story.”

 

Tony had apparently finished talking to Bruce, because he shrieked, “Oh my god, don’t TELL him anything! He has to be a blank slate!”

 

Sam rolled his eyes. “Blank enough that he doesn’t know what to look for?”

 

Tony scowled.

 

“Look, man. If we’re going to do this, don’t just look out for the Ghost, or whatever hoax they’re trying to get you to believe. Look out for ominous things Pierce says. Look for the Huntsman and the Necromancer. That’s what this should be about.”

 

“Um. Okay,” Steve said.

 

“Bruce is coming,” Tony informed them, smiling widely. “We’re gonna _science_.”

 

“Science is such a lie. Magic is more fun,” Sam teased.

 

“No way,” Tony said.

 

Clint jutted a thumb in Sam’s direction. “Magic can get me Wishes. Science can’t. It’s simple logic.”

 

“Fuck you,” Tony said darkly, but there was a light to his eyes. “Science trumps all.”

 

They were skirting dangerously close to the topic that had brought Sam and Tony to blows, and Natasha thankfully seemed to understand that.

 

“Settle down, boys,” she said, leveling them with a look.

 

There was a slightly uncomfortable silence in which Clint and Natasha had another conversation with their eyes.

 

“I’m really not sure what just happened,” Sam said, sounding confused.

 

Tony pointed at him. “I vaguely threatened you into forming a rebel alliance against the scourge of the Zone.”

 

Sam buried his face in his hands. “This is really happening, isn’t it?”

 

“Yep!” Tony announced, eyes shining. “We need to settle some plans more concretely once Brucie gets here, but I’m sure Mama Rogers will be off to set the world right in no time.”

 

Steve felt dizzy.

 

“Great,” Clint sighed, “This is gonna suck shit.”

 

* * *

 

 

Natasha led Steve to his room in the apartment, pausing just inside. She and Clint were sharing the other room (“Platonically,” Clint said hurriedly, blushing furiously) and Sam and Tony had been banished to the couches. Steve was alone.

 

“You understand why you’re getting a room to yourself, right?” Natasha asked carefully.

 

Steve shrugged.

 

Natasha pursed her lips, glancing behind her to make sure no one would overhear. “Look, I know you haven’t really had time to adjust to the idea that your Zone is gone and your best friend is dead.”

 

A shiver went down Steve’s spine. His eyes burned.

 

“So, you have all the privacy you need.” She gave him a hard, meaningful look. “You can think about everything.”

 

Steve’s lip trembled slightly. He bit down on it, begging the movement to stop. “Okay,” he finally managed.

 

Natasha awkwardly stepped forward and patted him on the shoulder. “See you in the morning.”

 

She shut the door with a quiet click behind her, leaving Steve in clinging darkness.

 

He found himself curled into the fetal position on the moth-eaten bed, tears silently but consistently sliding down his cheeks.

 

Natasha had said that Bucky was dead.

 

But Steve couldn’t even think of Bucky and death in the same sentence. Bucky had been so alive, throwing his whole body into laughs, eyes sparkling with mirth when teasing, moving with the languid grace of a dancer, teeth grinding together and eyes flashing dangerously whenever Steve did something stupid, almost caressing Steve’s skin when patching him up from a fight.

 

Bucky couldn’t be dead. Seventy fucking years had passed, but he couldn’t be dead. Zone 20 had been destroyed, leaving few survivors, but there was no way he was dead.

 

Steve bit down a sob, not wanting anyone to hear.

 

Why was he even here? His umbrella always took him to places that needed him- always to troubled children who needed to be set on the right path. Why take him someplace seventy years in the future, not even in the non-magical world? Why take him to Clint and Natasha on a lonely ship in a cold ocean?

 

Steve’s head throbbed. Maybe this group of people needed him. The thought was almost humorous, but Steve guessed that to him, Tony, Sam, Clint, and Natasha sort of _were_ children. Even though they were all totally older than him (biologically), Steve belonged in a different time- in a different Zone. He felt so incredibly old. His fingers twitched, and he ached for Bucky.

 

Steve had probably been in love with him since the first day they met.

 

Steve had been taking his kids to the park, pointing out things to abstractly teach them about. Steve remembered those two little boys. Thor and Loki. He felt a pang. Those poor boys had been in a terrible family situation. Steve had done whatever he could to help, but he still felt like he hadn’t reached them.

 

Bucky had been whistling, doodling on the pavement with little stubs of chalk that Steve’s fingers itched to snatch. Bucky was a terrible artist, but he drew on the ground anyway.

 

Loki had sniggered, striding up to Bucky with his hands of his hips as Steve snapped, “ _Hey_ , get back here.”

 

Loki ignored him, sneering down at Bucky’s work. “What an amateur attempt at artistry,” he scoffed.

 

Bucky glanced up, tipping his hat with a wry smile. “You like?” he asked, leaning back to expose his almost childish doodle of a unicorn being carried by a Pegasus.

 

“It’s very... amusing,” Loki said condescendingly.

 

Bucky shot Steve a bemused look, snapping Steve into action as he strode forward to take a hold of Loki’s shoulders. “What has anybody ever told you about talking to strangers?” he hissed.

 

Loki rolled his eyes. “You’re a nanny. You can’t tell me what to do.”

 

“Come on, Loki,” Thor groaned behind them.

 

Steve tried to shove down his anger. “Park time is over, kids. Let’s get you back home to do some mathematics.”

 

Loki and Thor gave twin squawks of indignance.

 

“That’s no fair!” Loki whined.

 

“I didn’t even do anything! It was Loki’s fault!” Thor protested.

 

“Now,” Steve said lowly, authority blazing through him. He wheeled the kids in the opposite direction, but paused to call over his shoulder, “And by the way, sir, I think your drawing is _lovely_.”

 

Bucky’s eyes gleamed. He was pleased. “You do?”

 

Steve smirked. “It’s absolutely charming.”

 

Bucky’s face lit up, and Steve turned around, pushing the reluctant children in the right direction.

 

Later, after the kids had been put to bed, Steve had snuck out onto the roof for an alien moment of privacy.

 

The voice had startled him badly.

 

“Rough day?”

 

“Fuck!” Steve exclaimed, turning around to see Bucky leaning against the chimney, grinning. There was soot smeared on his face, a red scarf tucked into his black overcoat, the ridiculous newsie cap on his head as he absentmindedly twirled his chimneysweep broom. “Did you follow me?”

 

Bucky shrugged. “I’m just doing my job. I’m a chimneysweep.”

 

“I thought you were a street artist.”

 

Bucky smirked. Steve found his eyes tracking the curve of his mouth. “I dabble,” was all he said.

 

“What the fuck are you doing here?”

 

Bucky had watched him for a moment. “The name’s Bucky. Zone 20 sent me.”

 

Steve narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Why?”

 

“They think you need help. Especially with this instance. Those two boys need it. And with what happened last time...”

 

Steve’s stomach dropped. “How do you know about that?”

 

“I was briefed before they sent me.”

 

“I don’t need help,” Steve growled, almost hostile. “I can get by on my own.”

 

“The thing is, you don’t have a choice anymore,” Bucky said with an air of nonchalance, but he watched him with a careful precision that shot static through Steve’s brain. “From this point forward, I’m with you ‘til the end of the line.”

 

Steve glared at him. “Well... Bucky, was it?” (The fuck kind of name was _Bucky_?) Bucky nodded. “I guess we’re going to be partners.” Steve didn’t really try to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “This is gonna be _fun_.”

 

Bucky laughed, tipping his head back a little. “Punk, you have no idea.”

 

And Steve really hadn’t. Bucky had quickly become the best thing in his life. He was good with children in a way Steve never could be. Sure, Steve set them on the right path. He showed them how to follow their hearts while not causing needless trouble. But it was Bucky who could calm them down with a charming smile. It was Bucky who could coax them out of a bad mood with light words. It was Bucky who fixed the wounds that Steve had inflicted.

 

And now what? Now who would mend the destruction that inevitably flowed in Steve’s wake?

 

“I can’t do this,” Steve whimpered to himself in the gloom. “I can’t. Not without you.”

 

He was talking to a dead man, but damn him if it didn’t make this strange world feel slightly more familiar as he imagined Bucky smoothing his hair away from his forehead, teasing, “Wherever the wind blows, right? I’ll follow you. Always.”

 

Steve closed his eyes. He buried his face in the musty pillow and cried himself to sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve spent two weeks in that apartment above the Tavern.

 

The first whole day was painfully awkward. Not just because Steve came out of his room with red, swollen eyes, occasionally sniffling throughout the meager breakfast. Not just because Natasha and Clint emerged from their room with Clint tightly holding her hand, Natasha’s wrist red and raw. Not just because Tony always said exactly what was on his mind (“Hey, hey, Mama Rogers. I’ve got a joke. It’s funny. Do you need a spoonful of sugar to help this ridiculously disgusting breakfast go down? Come on. I’m _funny_. Laugh.”)

 

Bruce’s appearance was probably the most awkward thing. Natasha avoided him like the plague, watching his movements from a safe distance with actual fear in her eyes. Sam was careful to act normal, though it looked like a too-meticulous front. Tony and Bruce were obviously close, so they had a strange banter full of insults and joking flirtation. Clint was probably the most casual around him, but Steve had no idea why everyone was tiptoeing around the mild-mannered scientist.

 

Bruce had watched Steve warily for the entire day. Then, at dinner, he’d abruptly put down his utensils and sighed. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

 

“No. I’m kind of new around here,” he said dryly. Sam snorted into his plate, choking on his food.

 

“He’s Steve Rogers,” Tony supplied helpfully.

 

Bruce looked slightly surprised. “Oh. I kind of thought you were dead.”

 

 _Feels like it_ , he thought to himself, but said, “Well.” His tone was self-deprecating, and Bruce’s lips quirked in sympathy.

 

“Well, you deserve to know. When I get angry, I turn into a monster.”

 

“Oh,” Steve said, startled. He had not expected that. “Okay.”

 

The rest of the weeks went by more smoothly. Sam made Steve feel more normal than he was. And it was clear that everyone was trying to accommodate him in the new Zone. Steve appreciated it. He felt like he was coming closer to being friends with this strange mixture of outlaws.

 

Sam, Bruce, and Tony did something to his umbrella. “It’s indestructible now,” Tony said proudly. “Thanks to science.”

 

“Thanks to magic,” Sam corrected, rolling his eyes.

 

“Why?” Steve asked.

 

“No offense, Steve,” Bruce began, smiling hesitantly, “But we know you aren’t trained to fight. If you’re going to go up against the Ghost, or even the Huntsman, you’re going to need some protection.”

 

“So it’s like a shield?” Steve asked, running his fingers over the familiar object.

 

“Yeah,” Sam said quietly. “It’s like a shield.”

 

Steve wasn’t allowed to leave the apartment, because according to Tony, he had to maintain as much of a “Blank Slate” as possible to appease this Alexander Pierce fella. But everyone else left it at some point or another. Clint was gone for five days to get something for Sam. It left Natasha tense and clearly sleepless. The red rawness around her wrist got agitated and started to bleed.

 

Everyone was off on errands to gather items for Sam to create a Wish. “It’s for when you complete the mission and gather as much Intel as possible. Or for when you get caught. You’ll break the Wish, and then think about coming back to us. It’ll save your life.”

 

The Wish looked like a pearl when it was complete, except that wasn’t totally right. It was too magnificent for that. It looked like it was made of rays of sunshine, and it glimmered a thousand different colors. Steve wanted to capture it with paint, but knew he wouldn’t be able to.

 

Sam put the Wish on a chain for Steve to wear around his neck. “If anybody tells you to give it up, say it’s one of your last relics from Zone 20. They won’t push it after that.” Sam looked up, smiling humorlessly. “People get real uncomfortable around those who have lost so much.”

 

(Steve wanted to ask about the pain in Sam’s eyes, but decided against it.)

 

And then the two weeks were over and Steve was getting ready to face the world for real this time.

 

Everyone said good-bye, hovering uncertainly as Steve gathered his things. Natasha would be taking him to wherever it was they were going, and she waited casually by the door.

 

“Hey, man. Good luck. Make it outta there in one piece and use the damn Wish,” Sam said, unexpectedly going in for a hug. Steve didn’t realize how much he needed that until Sam’s arms were around him, and he sagged into the warmth with a sigh, letting his eyes close briefly.

 

“Get a room, fellas,” Tony said lightly. Steve shoved down the reflexive flinch. They’d explained this to him. Two men could even get married now. Steve shouldn’t have been so weird about it.

 

“I know you’re gonna miss me,” Steve said, pulling away from Sam almost reluctantly.

 

Tony scoffed. “You? Nah. It’ll make me look better to have you out of here.” Tony looked away, swallowing visibly. “But, um. When you come back, we should, like... I could... We’ll...” Tony let out a frustrated breath, looking at Bruce helplessly.

 

“He’s trying to say that he wants to be friends,” Bruce explained, eyes gleaming with mirth.

 

Tony’s mouth dropped. “I- no! That’s not what I- No.”

 

Steve smiled. “I would love to be your friend, Tony.”

 

Tony glared at his feet, grumbling to himself, but his mouth was pulled into something of an embarrassed smile.

 

“It was nice to meet you, Steve. I look forward to your return,” Bruce added.

 

“Thank you, Bruce. Likewise.”

 

Clint shuffled anxiously from foot to foot. “Get back safe, man. Find the Ghost.”

 

“Okay.”

 

There was a stretch of silence. Steve looked at Natasha, who inclined her head slightly. “We’re going,” she said after a pause.

 

And go they did.

 

* * *

 

 

Natasha was subtly cradling her wrist.

 

They were sitting comfortably in an empty train car that Natasha had charmed her way into getting privately and at a considerable discount. The train ride was quiet but nice. Steve was worried about ruining it, but he couldn’t take it anymore.

 

“Hey,” he said. Natasha raised her head, subconsciously straightening her shoulders. “You okay?” he asked, nodding to her wrist.

 

Natasha’s expression went a little tight for a flash of a second. “Yeah.”

 

“Does it hurt?”

 

She smirked. “You should see the other guy.”

 

Steve gave her an unimpressed look. Natasha was putting on a front, and Steve didn’t know her all that well or anything, but he knew that it had to be exhausting.

 

“You know,” Steve began, dropping his gaze, “way back when, things were real different.”

 

“Yeah. I gathered,” Natasha said flatly.

 

Steve smiled. “When we were on leave from nannying, Bucky used to love to dance. Zone 20 had some great dance music, and Bucky always tried to teach me how to move my feet, but I was hopeless.”

 

“Does this anecdote have a point?” Natasha asked, and she sounded interested, but also kind of confused.

 

Steve made himself look back up, not answering directly as he went on, “Zone 20 was really different. Men who liked men and women who liked women were put to death. It was something considered impure. Unmagical.”

 

“You loved him,” Natasha said, and her voice sounded almost soft. Sympathetic.

 

Steve managed not to jerk away from the statement. “My love was unrequited. And illegal.”

 

“How do you know?”

 

“Well, gee Nat, the public executions where kinda dead giveaways-“

 

“No, not _that_. The unrequited thing.”

 

Steve faltered, blinking in surprise. “Um. It just... it wasn’t like that.”

 

Natasha sighed. “I know what you’re doing. Giving me one of your secrets so that I’ll give you one of mine.”

 

Steve shrugged noncommittally.

 

However, just as he’d hoped, Natasha said quietly, “I did not grow up in a good place. I fell asleep every night handcuffed to a bedpost. Some habits don’t shake.” Her voice was bitter.

 

“Clint helps?”

 

Natasha looked at him carefully. “He tries to get me to stop. Holds my hand instead.”

 

“You love him.”

 

She smiled, and it didn’t reach her eyes. “Love is for children.”

 

“So what? Be a child for once.”

 

Natasha stared at him, lips parting in something akin to amazement. “You’re really something, aren’t you?”

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Hardly.”

 

There was a long pause.

 

“Would you look at us? Bonding over our taste in men,” Natasha joked lightly, and the serious conversation was lost.

 

Steve bit down a laugh, wincing instead. “Whatever.”

 

“’Whatever’ my ass. This is fun.”

 

This time, Steve managed a chuckle. “ _So_ much fun.”

 

Natasha’s eyes crinkled, and Steve felt vaguely as if he’d accomplished something unattainable.

 

* * *

 

 

When they reached their destination- an open field, apparently- Natasha turned on her phone before giving Steve a grave look.

 

“Listen to me for one minute, Steve.”

 

“What?”

 

“I know they all want you to be as much of a blank slate as possible, but there are just some things that you need to know. Do not trust anyone. Alexander Pierce will try to get inside your head- it is something he is very good at, and you need to resist everything he says. Don’t let yourself fall to his manipulation. Steve, this is very important. Be careful with the Huntsman. He’ll play to your weaknesses. But most of all, I need you to stay as far away from the Necromancer as possible. Do not let him near you. Do you understand?”

 

Steve stared at her, speechless. “I-“

 

“Good. Now, shut up.” She pressed a few buttons on the phone, raising it to her ear and doing something to the accent of her voice as she said, “Yeah, hi. I think I found Steve Rogers. Trace the coordinates,” and hung up. She stood on her tiptoes, pressing a kiss to Steve’s cheek. “Good luck.”

 

And then she was gone.

 

* * *

 

 

The welcoming committee to Zone 21 was not fun.

 

Agents in black unfurled from all directions, holding things Steve recognized as fucking machine guns.

 

Steve froze, propping his umbrella on the side of his bag and slowly raising his hands in a pacifying gesture.

 

“We better get him back to HQ,” said the agent who looked like he had the most authority.

 

They swarmed around him, and Steve snatched his things back up, scowling. “These are _mine_ ,” he snapped when an agent reached for the bag. “What the fuck is this anyway?”

 

Nobody answered him. Instead, the agents shoved him to his knees, pried his things out of his hands as they cuffed his wrists behind his back, and put a burlap sack over his head.

 

Steve panicked, hands opening and closing around empty air. “DON’T TOUCH MY THINGS!” he shouted, though he was sure his words were muffled from the sack.

 

“Shut up!” someone barked. Steve felt something heavy collide with his head. He blinked away stars, head rushing with the pain.

 

Steve was shoved into some kind of vehicle, elbows gripped roughly on either side. He didn’t bother trying to keep track of the location of the vehicle. He knew they’d be taking several wrong turns to disorient him.

 

When the vehicle finally jerked to a stop, Steve was roughly shoved outside briefly, and then into somewhere indoors with echoing floors and big ceilings, from the sounds of things. They eventually stopped somewhere, and someone cleared his throat and said, “My lord... We’ve brought you something.”

 

Someone prodded him in the back and he stumbled a few steps forward before there was a kick to the backs of his knees and he collapsed to the floor.

 

This was humiliating.

 

“Well? What are you waiting for? Remove the damn bag. You’re going to kill the poor fool.”

 

The voice was carefully detached. Cold and aloof. But almost kind too.

 

The bag was yanked from his head and Steve squinted up at the sudden brightness. He was in what looked to be a throne room with marble floors and walls and ceilings. The room shimmered, and Steve took a moment to inspect the sparkles before understanding that there were fucking diamonds incrusted into the marble in curving lines. It was beautiful.

 

Steve turned his head, seeing the dais where the throne was located. No one was sitting in it, but someone was standing directly in front of it with his hands clasped behind his back. Steve suppressed a shiver. He was looking right at him, straight into him, with the coolest gaze he’d ever seen.

 

“And to what do we owe the pleasure?” the man said, his face blank.

 

Steve shrugged, lips twitching into something of a smirk. “You tell me, sir. Your men were the ones who brought me here in such an accommodating manner.”

 

The man smiled humorlessly. “Forgive me for that. I’m a little paranoid, and the whole Zone has been on high alert for years. It wouldn’t be fair if you were simply exempt from the rules.”

 

Steve didn’t say anything.

 

“Now. State your name and role.”

 

“I’m Steve Rogers. Magical nanny.”

 

(Bucky had been the first to call him a magical nanny- through gasping laughter after a few drinks. The title had stuck with Steve.)

 

The man paused for a long moment. “Bring me his things,” he said, not breaking eye contact with Steve. Steve: on his knees, battered, and handcuffed. The man: regal, in front of his throne, composed and collected. Someone passed the man Steve’s umbrella and bag. “And these are yours?”

 

“Yes. And I’d like them back.”

 

The man inspected the umbrella. “This is a very interesting artifact.”

 

“It’s mine.”

 

The man looked up, mouth tight. “I’ve been rude,” he said, “I’m Alexander Pierce, Lord Protector of Zone 21.”

 

Steve furrowed his brows in confusion, trying to act as though he’d freshly arrived here. “You mean Zone 20.”

 

Pierce frowned. “Ah, Mr. Rogers. So much has changed.”

 

“What do you mean?” A note of panic appeared in Steve’s voice, and it really wasn’t all acting. Steve was still completely freaked out, despite his two weeks to adjust. “Where’s Bucky?” he demanded.

 

“Uncuff him,” Pierce said, waving a hand, “He’s harmless.”

 

Steve bit down the outraged noise trying to crawl its way out of his throat.

 

An agent removed the cuffs, and Steve clamored to his feet, rubbing his bleeding wrists with a wince. He thought of Natasha. She cuffed one wrist every night unless Clint managed to stop her. Somehow, the thought was comforting. As if Blackbeard was somehow still with him.

 

Pierce stepped down from the dais so that he was closer to Steve. “You have a lot to learn. The world has changed, and we can’t go back.” Pierce inspected Steve’s features for a moment, eyes combing delicately over his face. Steve tried not to let a reaction show, but he was pretty sure Pierce saw his discomfort. Pierce smiled, flashing white teeth and cold blue eyes. “Take him to a suite of honor. Bring him some clothes. Let him clean himself up. He will be eating dinner with me.”

 

To his utter relief, someone hesitantly handed Steve his bag and umbrella as they escorted him down more marble-and-diamond halls.

 

The suite he was led to was absolutely nothing like the terrible apartment of the tavern. It was big and grand, with a plush bed and heavy drapes and regal adornments. The room felt colder than his room at the tavern.

 

Steve had never felt more alone in his damn life.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Alexander Pierce was an interesting man.

 

During their lavish dinner (served on literal golden platters- Bucky would’ve fainted at the sight), Pierce had explained how Zone 20 had been destroyed and Zone 21 had risen from the ashes. _Magical disturbances_ , he said. _It’d been happening for decades_ , he said. _Too many pushed the world over the edge_. Strands unraveled violently, only to be sewn back together by a being reverently praised as the Demiurge.

 

And the magical world was better off for it. Too much turmoil had left the world begging for stability. And Pierce had granted it to them, taking the reigns of the chaotic nature of magic and guiding them for the safety of the future. The people of Zone 21 only had to relinquish a small bit of freedom for the operation to be conducted smoothly. And now, here they were. The Lord Protector benevolently guarding his incapable citizens.

 

“Has anyone been allowed back to the non-magical world?” Steve asked, burning with curiosity. Maybe that was why his umbrella had been unable to guide him to a more familiar territory.

 

Pierce pressed his lips together. “The non-magical world doesn’t need us anymore. Science has gone too far there.”

 

Steve frowned. “But science and magic coexist perfectly here,” Steve pointed out, thinking of Sam and Tony and Bruce teasing each other good-naturedly.

 

Pierce shook his head. “There is a balance between science and magic that we have barely achieved here. Magic still is at the forefront. Science merely helps. For a while, it was like that in reverse for the non-magical world. But with too much science, magic is completely dismissed. It couldn’t work. The Demiurge sealed the portals to evade our destruction.”

 

“Oh,” Steve said quietly, processing all of that. After a long moment, he asked, “Um. How many people from Zone 20 survived?”

 

Pierce looked away, almost guilty. “Besides you, there’s only one remaining survivor.”

 

Steve’s stomach dropped. “Who?”

 

“Arnim Zola.”

 

Steve didn’t know the name. Only knew that it wasn’t Bucky. He felt the jagged shreds of his heart twist violently as he blinked away tears.

 

“You should talk to him sometime. He’s adjusted marvelously, although he didn’t have the time jump that you did. But he knows what it was like. It may help.”

 

“Okay,” Steve managed, voice wobbly. He cleared his throat, embarrassed. “Okay,” he repeated, firmer.

 

Pierce offered a sympathetic look. “I don’t want to overwhelm you. I’m going to excuse you for the night. Get some rest. Process it all.” He looked at something behind Steve. “Agent Rumlow. If you wouldn’t mind.”

 

Steve glanced over.

 

Agent Rumlow was all hard, rugged lines. His gaze was already on Steve, cocky and arrogant, and almost heady. Steve felt his mouth go dry despite himself. This man was attractive. Almost achingly so.

 

The thought felt like treason to Bucky. Steve didn’t know why. It wasn’t like Bucky ever felt the same way about Steve. It wasn’t like Bucky never dragged women back to their apartment in Zone 20, giggling and hushing each other half-heartedly.

 

Steve felt a flare of resentment that he’d always done his best to push down. But Bucky was dead. Maybe Steve could throw himself into something like this. Maybe it would stop the visceral pain for five minutes. Bucky couldn’t do anything about it. Not a dead man.

 

The thought was strangely comforting as he dragged his eyes down Rumlow’s body. Rumlow smirked knowingly, inclining his head with confidence. “After you,” he said, and his voice sounded like sex. Steve forced himself to swallow.

 

He could hear the sneer in Pierce’s voice when he said, “Make sure that Mr. Rogers is _comfortably_ accommodated.” The innuendo in his words shot a jolt of clarity through Steve’s head. This wasn’t right. These traitorous thoughts. It wasn’t right.

 

Rumlow offered Steve his elbow, and Steve hesitantly took it, shooting Pierce a weary glance as they exited the room.

 

“So,” Rumlow said, drawing the word out. “How’re you liking things around here so far?”

 

Steve shrugged honestly. “I- it’s different.”

 

Rumlow nodded. “I expect so. I’ve learned a little about Zone 20 from Zola.”

 

“I should meet him some time to reminisce,” Steve joked weakly.

 

Rumlow chuckled lowly. “That’d be a sight.” He gave Steve a once-over of unmistakable intent.

 

They had reached Steve’s suite. Rumlow leaned his shoulder against the door, looking at Steve with an arched brow.

 

Steve sighed, looking away. “Well. G’night.”

 

“Sure you don’t want company?”

 

Steve actually hesitated. He didn’t want to feel so alone, but he knew that inviting Rumlow inside would inevitably just make him feel worse. This wasn’t right. Not so close to his mourning for Bucky.

 

He finally sighed. “Maybe later.”

 

Rumlow nodded. “You’ve got all the time in the world now,” he said easily and strode away, shoving his hands in his pockets.

 

Steve took a deep, shuddering breath before fumbling his way into the suite.

 

The bed sheets were cold and judgmental around him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Ah, Mr. Rogers!”

 

Steve looked up, surprised to see Alexander Pierce. They hadn’t spoken since that first day. Since then, Brock Rumlow, who Steve began to think of as “Brock” in his head, had been teaching Steve things about Zone 21, helping the pieces come together.

 

Now, Steve stopped in his tracks, waiting for Pierce to reach him.

 

Pierce smiled. “Walk with me. I’m going to see Doctor Zola. You should come with. He’s been eager to meet you.”

 

Steve nodded. “Oh. Sure. It’ll be nice to talk about something more familiar.”

 

Pierce smiled sympathetically. “I agree. It’ll be good for you.” As they walked briskly through the grand halls, Pierce lowered his voice and said, “I should warn you. Some of Doctor Zola’s work can be disturbing.”

 

Steve lifted a shoulder. He’d seen children die. His life was full of disturbing things.

 

Pierce let them drift back into silence, only shooting Steve a charming grin before pushing open a big, wooden door. (All the other doors in the palace were made of some other shimmery material. Steve wondered vaguely why this one was different.)

 

“Doctor Zola!” Pierce called as they entered. Steve wrinkled his nose. It smelled like sweat and oil and a pungent sort of magic. It was unpleasant.

 

A small, chubby man looked up from his workbench. “Lord Pierce!” he exclaimed, smiling. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

 

Pierce chuckled. “It’s quite alright, Doctor. A messy workspace means you’re getting work done, no?”

 

Zola wiped his hands on a filthy rag. “I suppose so. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

 

Pierce gestured to Steve. “I’m here to introduce Mr. Rogers. From Zone 20.”

 

Zola’s beady eyes lit up. “I have heard much about you, Herr Rogers.”

 

Steve awkwardly shuffled in place. “Likewise,” he managed.

 

“Forgive the mess. My creations have not been kind to me today,” Zola said, eyes sliding to the corner of the room.

 

Steve followed his gaze and jumped. He hadn’t noticed there was another person here.

 

“Fascinating, no?” Zola said, but it was background noise. There was something _wrong_ about the man strapped to the table. Something very, very wrong.

 

Steve couldn’t see his face- it was covered by a dark rag- but he could see the limp strands of hair fanning out behind his head. His skin was dull and almost lifeless, but not quite. Angry scars cut across the impressive expanse of his muscular torso. In place of his left arm was... something metal. Steve couldn’t tell if it was made by science or magic. Maybe both. It looked like an arm, but it was wrong.

 

Zola sighed, and Steve forced his gaze back to the man. “I suspect no one has explicitly informed you of my work here?”

 

Steve glanced at Pierce, then back to Zola. “Um. No.”

 

“I have combined science and magic to raise the dead.”

 

Steve’s jaw dropped. “You’re the Necromancer?”

 

Zola winced. “That is my less savory but sadly most popular title. I do not like to think of myself as such. Life is such a precious thing. I have simply made it cheap.”

 

Steve took a breath through his nose, trying not to gag at the smell. He nodded towards the man on the table. “Is he dead?”

 

Zola looked amused. “Him? No. He’s one of my more peculiar, more successful creations. When I found him, he’d lost his mind and soul. I scraped out everything left and made his body powerful. Preserved him. He is, in my most humble opinion, my greatest work of art.”

 

Steve felt a little sick. “Oh,” he whispered.

 

“But enough of this talk. Come. It has been so long since I’ve had someone from Zone 20. From home.”

 

Pierce winked at Steve and excused himself. Steve followed Zola to a messy couch, sitting delicately on the edge.

 

Natasha’s words were reverberating through his skull. _I need you to stay as far away from the Necromancer as possible. Do not let him near you._

 

He took a calming breath. It was fine. He could do this.

 

It was surprisingly pleasant to talk to Zola about home. He was born after Steve was carried away by his umbrella, but he understood the jarring differences: both small and large.

 

It would’ve been nicer if Zola wasn’t the fucking Necromancer, but beggars can’t be choosers.

 

After what felt like hours of fond discussion, Steve heard something flutter to the floor- probably a paper. He twisted around. The body dubbed Zola’s “greatest work of art” was standing silently, pressed into the corner of the room. The dark obscured his face and chest, and his hair continued to shield him from scrutiny.

 

“Ah _mein kätzchen_. Welcome back to the world of the living,” Zola said, almost tenderly.

 

The body didn’t react.

 

“I did not call you. You can rest some more. In fact,” Zola trailed off. He stood, grabbing a handful of powder that reeked of magic and approached the body. The body didn’t so much as flinch as Zola pressed the handful of powder to the body’s nose and mouth. The body went limp. “Ah, _ser gut, mein kätzchen_ ,” he crooned, laying the body back on the table and covering his face with the rag. He looked at Steve. “His eyes unnerve people. I cover them as often as I can.”

 

Steve nodded, although he did not understand. His skin was crawling. He wondered what it would be like to have everything inside scraped away to make him as unresponsive as the body on the table. He barely suppressed a shudder. Steve had been taught since he was little that there was really no such thing as dark magic, but Steve wasn’t sure anymore. This. _This_ was dark magic.

 

“Well,” Steve said, rising to his feet. “I better get going. I’m getting hungry, and keeping you from your... work.”

 

“Of course,” Zola said politely. “I do hope we can continue this conversation some other time.”

 

“Likewise,” Steve said, stomach roiling. He tried not to get out of the room too hastily.

 

Pierce had been right. That was disturbing.

 

* * *

 

 

The days were long.

 

Steve usually spent them with Brock, who flirted and joked and talked with Steve. Steve tried not to be too mechanical or weird about it, but he was sure he definitely failed. Steve was not very eloquent around people interested in him. He discovered that Brock was known as the Huntsman and tried not to think too hard about what that meant.

 

Sometimes, he talked to Zola, although never again in his creepy room. Even though he was the fucking Necromancer, the familiarity was nice.

 

Alexander Pierce had dinner with him and a few others every other week. It was like a business dinner. Steve had no idea how to operate himself.

 

(Bucky would’ve hated this palace. The grandeur would’ve made him uncomfortable and resentful.)

 

The nights were even longer than the days.

 

Steve hardly slept, but when he did, his dreams were fucked up.

 

Sometimes, it was Bucky who greeted him, hand outstretched through the gloom of darkness. Steve always reached out, grazing his cold fingers, but always let him slip away into the dark, an agonized scream ripping at his mutilated heart.

 

Sometimes, it was the children he had let die. This was an old nightmare that Steve knew as well as the back of his hand. He used to wake up crying from it. Bucky used to hold him until he slumped back into a restless sleep.

 

Sometimes, it was a stranger. A boy with dark hair who could fly but was encased in something. The boy never spoke during the dreams- only stared at Steve accusingly until he woke in a cold sweat.

 

So. Steve never slept much.

 

He fell into a sort of monotonous routine. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was always aware of the mission: fine Intel. He hadn’t found much. He wasn’t sure he was going to get much.

 

Steve was going to fail.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey,” Brock said, sliding up to him in the dining room. “Feeling okay?”

 

Steve blinked. “Um. Yeah. Why?”

 

Brock tilted his chin down, and Steve followed the gesture to his umbrella. “You always carry that thing around when you’re not great.”

 

Steve swallowed. Brock was right. He did do that. “So?” he managed.

 

Brock gave his bicep a squeeze. “So, nothing. You don’t have to talk about it. Although...”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Don’t you think it’s kind of a walking target? We could paint it a less attention-demanding color.”

 

Steve narrowed his eyes. “No, thank you,” he said with icy politeness, suddenly wanting to be anywhere but here.

 

Brock held up both hands. “Sorry. Was just a suggestion.”

 

“It’s fine the way it is.” Steve’s voice was terse.

 

“Yeah, fine.”

 

Steve pressed his lips together. “I’m not all that hungry anymore. I’ll see you around.”

 

Brock sighed heavily but didn’t try to follow Steve as he exited the room, gripping his umbrella with white knuckles.

 

It wasn’t a big deal, but Steve had just been feeling a little touchy lately.

 

He hunched his shoulders, stalking aimlessly through the fucking castle that he hated with every fiber of his being. He fucking missed Bucky, as if he was missing his lungs or his spine.

 

Steve didn’t realize he was following gentle whispers for a long time.

 

When he was finally made aware of the soft voice in his ear, he stopped in his tracks, heart hammering.

 

 _Keep going_ , the voice said.

 

Steve sucked in a breath, panic and questions shooting through his mind.

 

 _It’s okay_ , the voice said, _It’s okay to be scared. But I need your help_.

 

Somebody needed him. Nobody had needed him for seventy years.

 

Steve let out a breath he hadn’t even known he’d been holding in. He started walking again, and this time he knew that it was magic guiding his footsteps.

 

 _Hurry_ , the voice said, more urgently, _We don’t have a lot of time_.

 

Steve surreptitiously picked up his pace, and within minutes he’d arrived at a door. It was inconspicuous enough, but the smell of magic was so strong that Steve was getting dizzy. He grabbed the handle, but it was locked.

 

 _Fuck. Hold on a sec_ , the voice muttered.

 

There was a soft click. Steve sneezed, sinuses rejecting the sudden flare in magic. This time, the door opened.

 

The room was dark.

 

“No it isn’t. There’s a blindness spell.”

 

The screech that issued from Steve’s mouth was terribly embarrassing. He stumbled a few steps backwards, crashed into something he couldn’t see, and toppled to the floor.

 

“Fuck. Sorry.”

 

It was the voice that had been guiding him.

 

Steve clamored to his feet. “Um. What the fuck is going on?” he demanded hoarsely.

 

“Well, I’m kind of sending an SOS. Just being a general damsel in distress.”

 

“Listen-“

 

“Sorry, sorry. I was joking. Mostly. Um- I’m going to try and revoke the blindness spell right now, but after that, my magic will be about depleted, so you’ll need to act fast.”

 

“What?”

 

Light suddenly flooded Steve’s senses. When he finally oriented himself, he sucked in a harsh breath. The guy before him was just a teenager- he had floppy black hair and sunken dark eyes. He was sitting in exhaustion behind a slightly distorted veil. A force field.

 

“Holy shit,” Steve breathed.

 

The guy’s lips quirked, but his eyes remained dull. “Steve Rogers, it is a genuine pleasure to meet your acquaintance. I’m Billy Kaplan.”

 

“Hi?”

 

“I need you to get me out of here.”

 

“Why? I mean, yes. But how?” Steve asked, feeling anxious but useful for once.

 

Billy nodded to his umbrella. “It’ll shield you and me from the force field long enough for us to get out.”

 

Steve didn’t hesitate. He snapped his umbrella open and strode for the force field, barely remembering to shelter himself. “Why are you in here?” Steve asked. He stepped forward, and the veil crashed around him but didn’t touch him.

 

Billy lurched to his feet, basically falling into Steve’s arms. “I, uh, have a lot of fucking magic. Um. They call me the Demiurge? I don’t know.”

 

Steve stopped for a moment. “You’re the one who took apart Zone 20 and sealed the portals to the non-magical world.”

 

Billy winced. “Right. Zone 20. You have to understand, it was falling apart. The only thing I could do was save as many magical people as possible.”

 

Steve looked away. For all he knew, this kid had killed Bucky. “And the portals?”

 

“That wasn’t my choice,” Billy said quietly.

 

They approached the veil of the force field and somehow made it out to the other side. Billy collapsed into dead weight immediately, clinging to Steve’s shirt. “So?” Steve said. “Alexander Pierce just trapped you here to worship you as a God and use your magic for his nefarious purposes?”

 

“Mmmmmm. Pretty much,” Billy mumbled, eyes drooping.

 

“You have to wake up and get out of here,” Steve sighed. “Somebody’s going to come looking for you.”

 

“’M gonna open the portals,” Billy continued. “Once I get out for good. ‘M gonna open ‘em. It’s how it should be.”

 

“None of this magic versus science bullshit?”

 

Billy craned his neck just so he could roll his eyes at Steve. “Science is just a different way of using magic. It’s really not a big fucking deal.”

 

Steve smiled to himself.

 

“Anyway, I’m really fucking drained right now. Force fields do absolutely shitty things to my magic. Could you use your dandy umbrella to get us out of here? I promise I’ll get you back without anyone noticing. We just gotta hurry.”

 

“It... kind of has a mind of its own,” Steve said awkwardly, glaring at the umbrella.

 

“Right. Wherever the wind blows.” Steve stared at Billy. “Well, all it needs is some sweet-talking.” Billy looked up at the umbrella and batted his eyelashes. “Please takemesomeplacesafe.”

 

Steve scoffed, “If you think that’s going to work-“

 

He was cut off by the unexpected jump his umbrella made. Steve yelped, and held Billy tighter with his free arm. Billy got the idea and wrapped his arms and legs around Steve. “Sorry this is so awkward,” he mumbled, smiling sheepishly.

 

Steve knew he didn’t really need to worry about crashing into structures. His umbrella took care of that when it was convenient. The magic had always baffled Steve, but he’d never questioned it. It was just his, and it was weird and random, but it was good.

 

When Steve opened his eyes after a moment, they were gliding along the wind currents, outside for the first time in what felt like forever. Maybe an actual forever for Billy.

 

Steve lost time as they hurtled through the air. The next thing he knew, they’d landed in front of a fucking tree house.

 

Billy gasped for breath, still pretty much collapsed. “That was fucking amazing,” he breathed.

 

Steve opened his mouth to reply, but a high-pitched war cry had the words dying on his lips. From all directions, teenagers and children leapt out of the tree house and surrounding woods to form a circle around them.

 

Steve and Billy were frozen.

 

A girl stepped forward, scowling. Her dark skin had streaks of mud smeared across it. Steve thought he saw a fairy standing on her shoulder.

 

“The fuck are you clowns doing here?” she asked, jutting her chin out hostilely.

 

Billy seemed mute, so Steve ventured, “I just needed to take him someplace safe. Is this place safe?”

 

The girl barked out a laugh. “What kind of fool do you take me for, _chico_? Of course it’s safe. Just not for the likes of you.”

 

Steve frowned. “The likes of _me_?”

 

“Adults,” another girl supplied, coming to stand slightly behind the initial girl. “You aren’t welcome here.” The second girl looked strangely clean in comparison to the rest, but nobody questioned her.

 

Steve glanced at Billy, who was straightening. “Fuck that. Steve saved my life. And he has to go back anyway as soon as I have enough magic.”

 

“Oh, he says he’s a magician, princess,” the first girl said, tossing a look at the cleaner girl, who rolled her eyes. “Rules are rules, _chico_. No adults. You can stay, but your friend can’t.”

 

“America,” a guy said, looking at the first girl, who narrowed her eyes, “Give them a break.”

 

America bared her teeth. “Stand down, Teddy.”

 

Teddy’s eyes flashed with anger. “Look, the guy can barely stand-“

 

“Stand down. If you really feel so bad about the whole thing, take the magician and get him a hammock or some shit. But you are not going to defend an adult.”

 

Teddy gritted his teeth, but approached Steve and Billy. “I’ll take him,” he said quietly, shooting Steve a quick glance.

 

Steve gingerly handed off Billy, and Teddy took hold of him with surprising care considering his size. “Be careful with him,” he said.

 

Teddy nodded and left the crowd, leaving Steve alone against America and a bunch of kids.

 

Oh, the irony.

 

A fitting end. Steve had come full circle. He’d gotten kids killed, and now they were going to kill him.

 

“Kate, ready your bow,” America said, and the clean girl stepped away for a moment. “What do you want from us?” she asked Steve.

 

Steve traced the handle of his umbrella. “Nothing. I literally go wherever the wind blows. It’s nothing personal.”

 

America pursed her lips. “So you have no idea where you are.”

 

“No.”

 

“America,” another voice said, and a kid stepped forward to nudge her side. “I could send him back and you know it.”

 

America stared at the kid. “No.”

 

“I’m not evil-“

 

“Goddammit, Loki, for the last fucking time-“

 

“I won’t even erase his memory-“

 

“-you were a bad idea in the first damn place-“

 

“-be fine after I return him to Pierce-“

 

“-and I said NO!”

 

They glared at each other, and Kate returned with her bow.

 

“Princess, he wants to-“

 

“Send the poor guy back? Let him,” Kate said with a shrug. “I’ve known good adults before.”

 

“You’ve known _one_ ,” America muttered stubbornly.

 

They both looked at Steve.

 

Steve swallowed. “Um. I’m Steve Rogers?”

 

A beat of silence, and then the kids burst into commotion. Steve flinched, not knowing if this was a good sign or a bad sign.

 

Kate aimed her bow. (Bad sign.)

 

“FUCK YOU AND ALL THAT YOU STAND FOR!” a kid called angrily. (Bad sign.)

 

“I’m just a nanny,” Steve said helplessly, popping his umbrella open.

 

“KATE, WAIT!” America yelled. (Good sign?)

 

The kid, Loki, screamed something that sounded like a spell, and Steve was lurched into motion.

 

He blinked, head spinning, and saw that he was back in his suite in the palace.

 

Steve rushed to his bathroom and spent a good fifteen minutes throwing up and trying to get the room to stop spinning.

 

But he was safe.

 

More importantly, Billy Kaplan was safe.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Mr. Rogers, I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” Pierce said, smiling coldly from his desk.

 

Steve shifted his weight anxiously.

 

“We’ve recently _misplaced_ a valuable asset.”

 

“Sir?”

 

“Would you happen to know anything about that?”

 

Steve stared at Pierce, trying his best to keep his face blank. “You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that.”

 

Pierce’s lips curved, and he stood, turning away from Steve to face a crystal window. “Rogers, I know you’re a good man, and I know that we understand each other on some level. My enemies are your enemies.”

 

Steve said nothing.

 

“You and I both know that when people are left to come to decisions on their own, nothing but chaos results. We know the implications of free people who have no sense of right and wrong.”

 

Steve narrowed his eyes. “What are you saying?” His voice came out tight.

 

Pierce turned a little, eyes shining. “I know about your mistakes. You were trying to teach the kid the difference between right and wrong. Trying to teach him how to stand up for himself.”

 

Steve’s fingers tightened around the handle of his umbrella to disguise the trembling.

 

“It all backfired, right? When the kid finally stood up for himself, it was against his abusive father, correct? He was thrown down the stairs. Snapped his neck. While you were on the roof for a moment of quiet.”

 

“That’s enough sir,” Steve said quietly, staring at the ground.

 

“And what about the girl who was always sick? You were trying to help her fulfill her last dying wish, right? To go to the Grand Canyon. You took her without her parents’ permission, and she got sick on the train. Died in her sleep the night before you got to finally see the canyon.”

 

Steve squeezed his eyes shut. “Enough.”

 

“What about the twins who were just screwing around, like kids should? You got angry, yelled at them, and they decided to run away. It was a freezing night. They got lost in the city and died of hypothermia before you could find them.”

 

“ _Stop_.”

 

Pierce smiled pleasantly as Steve tried to suppress the shudders coursing through him, but he couldn’t. “Mr. Rogers,” Pierce said softly, “I would like for us to be able to work together. To be friends, even. But nothing is going to stop me from protecting the people of Zone 21. Not even you.”

 

Steve bit the inside of his cheek, hard enough to draw blood. “Understood.”

 

“Good. You’re dismissed.”

 

Steve almost fell over his feet in his haste to get out of there.

 

 

* * *

 

 

He was walking back to his suite in a daze when he noticed it.

 

It was just the merest shadow of movement, but Steve was instantly alert, gripping his umbrella close to his chest.

 

Pierce’s words were bouncing around his skull, his heart was pounding, and there was _someone following him_.

 

Steve popped his umbrella open just as the knife whizzed towards him, and he nearly cried with relief with the weapon bounced harmlessly off the umbrella.

 

His attacker leapt from behind the column he was using as his hiding place and drove straight for Steve, pulling back his fist and slamming it into the umbrella. Steve managed to hold it up protectively, but this guy was seriously strong.

 

Steve peaked around his umbrella.

 

Nope. He was wrong. This guy wasn’t just strong. It was the body from Zola’s workshop, metal arm and all.

 

The body’s eyes were obscured by dark goggles and the lower half of his face was covered by a black bandana. He looked just as lifeless as he had on that table.

 

Steve swung the umbrella towards him frantically, and to his surprise, he actually hit the body. The body readjusted his footing, grabbing the edges of the umbrella in an iron grip, and yanking it away from Steve’s hands.

 

The body stalked towards him, and Steve’s horribly perverted mind let his eyes flick down to the body’s ridiculously muscular thighs.

 

They were some good thighs, even in unpleasant circumstances.

 

As Steve backed himself away, it occurred to him that Zola’s “greatest work of art” was actually an assassin, and that the reason Steve was sent here in the first place was to gain Intel on an assassin.

 

This lifeless body couldn’t be the Ghost, could it?

 

(Although maybe _that_ was why they called him the Ghost.)

 

As the Ghost got closer, Steve made his decision. He’d fight. Try to find an identity to associate with the Ghost’s face. If he couldn’t, he’d use the Wish.

 

Steve started forward, throwing his fist toward the Ghost’s face. The Ghost batted it away, and gave Steve a backhanded slap with his metal arm, which hurt like shit. The Ghost grabbed him by the collar and yanked him forward before shoving him back.

 

Steve took a moment to gain his footing, but the moment allowed the Ghost time to grab another knife. Steve desperately knocked his wrist aside, proceeding to attempt to block every strike that came his way. The Ghost managed to eventually overcome him, plunging the knife into Steve’s shoulder. Steve groaned in pain as his skin and muscles ripped apart. He blinked away the stars before head-butting the Ghost.

 

The Ghost faltered for a second, evidently not expecting the head-butt. Steve took his advantage, ignoring the screaming of his shoulder, and shoved the Ghost’s chest. The Ghost staggered back a step, and Steve clumsily used one arm to tackle him to the floor.

 

They landed in a tangled scramble of limbs, and the Ghost lost his already-cracked goggles in impact. His eyes were just as lifeless as the rest of him. Pale gray-blue. They’d be pretty if they weren’t so terrifying.

 

They struggled on the ground, and the Ghost retrieved his knife from Steve’s shoulder. This time, Steve couldn’t muffle his scream. He was running out of time, and he was running out of dirty moves to use. He didn’t think about it before he bit down on the Ghost’s flesh hand, hard.

 

The Ghost pulled his hand out of Steve’s mouth, eyes widening for an instant with a shock of pain. His hand was bloody. Steve used the moment to rip the bandana from his face.

 

And the world fell out from under him.

 

He stopped, and stared in horror at the familiar face below him. “ _Bucky_?”

 

The Ghost, Zola’s “greatest work of art,” the lifeless body, Bucky, Bucky, Bucky. Bucky stared back at him with dead eyes. “Who the hell is Bucky?”

 

Somewhere, Bucky’s rough voice was reaching his ears. Somewhere, two bodies were fighting in the hallway of a lavish castle seventy years too far away.

 

Steve was unaware. The words that had come out of Bucky’s mouth had registered with a dull, boundless horror. Something like confusion flashed through Bucky’s eyes. He was confused. He didn’t know who he was. He didn’t know who Steve was.

 

“ _Bucky_ ,” Steve repeated, voice breaking pathetically, and to some extent, it was his attempt to answer Bucky’s question.

 

Bucky’s face shuttered completely, and he shoved Steve off of him. He reached into his belt and grabbed a revolver, clicking the safety off and pointing it at Steve’s head.

 

Numbly, Steve reached to the chain around his neck where Sam’s Wish rested against his collarbone. He squeezed the Wish between his fingers, thought of Sam and the others, and closed his eyes.

 

The sound of a gunshot greeted his ears, but Steve felt nothing as he was whisked away.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Steve collapsed as soon as the Wish’s transportation was complete. He didn’t realize that he was sobbing until he realized that he couldn’t see. But he could hear Sam’s alarmed shout of panic. “Steve!”

 

Steve curled in on himself, squeezing his eyes tight. “It was him,” he gasped.

 

Sam was gripping his shoulders. “What? Steve, what happened? What are you talking about? Are you bleeding?”

 

A particularly heavy sob wracked Steve’s body, almost like a convulsion. “It’s him. It’s Bucky. It’s Bucky.”

 

“You’re not making any sense,” Sam said gently.

 

Steve shoved his hands away. “Zola- he- he must’ve- he must’ve found him. Oh, god.” The sound that issued from his mouth sounded like it was torn away from something integral- something important.

 

“ _Steve_.”

 

“He didn’t know me,” Steve cried, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “He didn’t even know me.”

 

“What are you talking about?” Sam whispered, and his calmness almost infuriated Steve.

 

He gritted his teeth, shivering through the sobs. “The Ghost. It’s Bucky.”

 

Sam was deathly quiet as Steve pitched forward, landing face-first in Sam’s chest. His fingers dug into the fabric of Sam’s shirt as he cried, unable to feel anything but somehow feeling everything.

 

When Steve tapered off into whimpers and sniffles, he noticed Sam was rubbing his back. As if this wasn’t weird at all.

 

“You want to tell me how this all came to happen?” Sam said calmly.

 

Steve took a shuddering breath. “I just stood there. Zola was doing things to him and _I just stood there_.”

 

“Steve.”

 

“I freed the Demiurge, and Pierce knew, and they sent the Ghost to kill me, and the Ghost is Bucky,” Steve managed.

 

“ _The Demiurge_?” Sam demanded.

 

Steve nodded.

 

“Shit.”

 

Steve nodded again, and his lip began to tremble.

 

Sam carefully extracted himself, getting to his feet. “I’ll be right back.”

 

Steve managed another tiny nod before the tears returned in full force. He’d be more embarrassed if he could feel anything besides pain.

 

(The stab wound only took up a small fraction of it, even though the adrenaline was rapidly draining from his system and the pain was growing.)

 

“Fuck. Is he bleeding?”

 

Steve looked up slowly with red, swollen eyes. Bruce was hurrying towards him, grimacing and kneeling down to press his hand into Steve’s shoulder. Steve cried out. It _hurt_.

 

“You guys do know I’m not that kind of doctor?” Bruce said distractedly, reaching for medical scissors.

 

Sam sat down a safe distance away. “You could’ve fooled me.”

 

Bruce methodically cut Steve’s shirt away from his skin, discarding the soiled rags and immediately moving to sterilize the wound. Fresh tears of pain sprung to Steve’s eyes.

 

“You’ll have to stay still. This’ll hurt,” Bruce said kindly.

 

Steve didn’t reply.

 

And it did hurt, especially the cleaning and the stitches, but Steve managed not to scream. His reactions where limited to pained whimpers.

 

Bruce finished by wrapping the shoulder in a thick layer of gauze. “If we had any magical healers, this would go by a lot faster.”

 

“Sorry. You’re stuck with cheap Wishes,” Sam said, smiling.

 

“Cheap. Right,” Bruce said dryly.

 

Sam held up his hands. “What can I say? I’m in high demand.”

 

“Where is everybody?” Steve asked, and his voice sounded like it was scraped raw.

 

“They’re out helping Tony gather ingredients for his Wish,” Sam told him.

 

“Tony’s Wish?”

 

Sam glanced at Bruce, who sighed and removed his glasses to absentmindedly polish them with the hem of his shirt. “Right. Tony’s wife has been missing, so he’s been trying to get a Wish to find her and bring them back together.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“And Wishes require some really obscure ingredients,” Sam supplied.

 

Steve had become silent. He was staring blankly into the middle-distance, posture unnaturally straight for someone who had just sustained a knife wound. His mind was utterly, impossibly blank.

 

He felt a point of strange warmth, and looked vacantly at the hand on his knee. “Steve,” Sam was saying. “Hey. Stay with me, man.”

 

Steve was still shivering.

 

“You need to tell us what happened.”

 

Steve said nothing. He let his gaze drift back to the middle distance.

 

The next thing he knew, he was on a bed in a dark room, shirtless and shoeless. He blinked. Natasha was smoothing sweaty hair off of his forehead, looking down at him with compassion.

 

“Nat,” he croaked.

 

Natasha smiled a little bit, not removing her hand from his head. “Hey, you big dinosaur.”

 

“Dinosaur?” he mumbled in confusion.

 

“Yeah. Cuz you’re old.”

 

Steve couldn’t help it. He barked out a rough, hysterical laugh that quickly (to his utter mortification) dissolved into tears.

 

“You want to tell me what happened?”

 

Steve managed to calm down his breathing, although the tears wouldn’t stop. His voice was thick as he said, “I, uh, met the Necromancer, and then I freed the Demiurge. And Pierce- Pierce-“

 

Natasha made a soothing noise, and he had to collect himself.

 

“-threatened me. He brought up some bad things I’ve done. And then he sent the Ghost to kill me.”

 

“And?” Natasha prompted quietly.

 

“And it’s Bucky.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “ _Bucky_ is the Ghost.”

 

“So, what are you going to do about it?”

 

The question caught Steve off guard. Here he’d been, stewing in his own guilt, horror, self-hatred, despair, and shock. Here he’d been, a completely useless, blubbering mess. He was doing nothing for Bucky. So, what was he going to do?

 

Steve sniffled, and struggled to push himself into a sitting position. His shoulder screamed with pain, and his elbow buckled underneath him. Natasha hurried to help him instead.

 

Steve stared at her, jaw set, tears glittering on his cheeks, eyes hard. “I’m going to kill every last son of a bitch who laid one hand on him.”

 

Natasha grinned. “Good. I’ll join you.”

 

“I want them dead,” Steve spat, all those useless emotions churning as they rapidly turned into anger. His hands curled into fists, almost subconsciously. “I want them all dead.”

 

“Then let’s go,” Natasha said. “Time to work for a living.”

 

* * *

 

 

Steve’s shoulder felt like shit.

 

It didn’t stop him from helping Natasha clean her guns, swords, machetes, and knives, but it did deter his progress a little bit.

 

He was drowning out the argument between Bruce and Tony with the sounds of metal against metal.

 

That is, until it got louder.

 

“We are not doing this, Tony!” Bruce snapped.

 

“Bruce, come on! It’s the right thing!”

 

“You _know_ what happens when I’m in high-stress situations.”

 

“Yeah. And what happens is fucking awesome. You can’t be so naïve to-“

 

“You did not just call the fucking Hulk awesome. I refuse to believe I actually heard those words in that order.”

 

“Bruuuuuce,” Tony whined, visibly pouting as Bruce bristled. “We’ve gotta help Steve.”

 

“We _are_ helping him. From here.”

 

Tony scowled. “What we need to do is help avenge his pal.”

 

“My pal?” Steve asked, frowning.

 

Tony blinked, looking at him as if just realizing he was there. “Um. Yeah. Your... Bucky... thing...” he said awkwardly.

 

Steve’s cheeks heated at the possessive pronoun. “Uh-“

 

“Steve agrees with me. We should fight. Isn’t that what we’ve wanted all these years? To stick it to Pierce so that we can finally be safe?”

 

 _Safe_. Steve almost scoffed aloud. There was no “safe.” He glanced at Natasha to find her looking bemused, as if she had the same thought.

 

Bruce ran a hand through his hair. “ _You_ can fight. I’ll hurt too many people if I do. I’ll stay here.”

 

Tony looked deflated. “But-“

 

“No buts, Tony.”

 

“Nobody is ever going to force you to fight,” Steve said firmly, and Bruce and Tony turned to stare at him in surprise. “I could never ask anyone to do that. This is _my_ fight.”

 

Tony seemed to recover first. “I want to help. You know- uh- I get bored and shit. Plus, I have some new toys that I haven’t had the opportunity to try out yet.”

 

A ghost of a smile flitted across Steve’s face. “Of course.”

 

Bruce looked at Steve gratefully. “I’m sorry, Steve. I just can’t keep losing control of myself. No one ever benefits.”

 

Tony opened his mouth to protest, but Steve silenced him with a hard look. “Bruce, I am never going to ask you to fight. In fact, you’re needed here. It’d be better if you didn’t fight so that you can be prepared to take care of injuries when we get back.”

 

Bruce looked floored. “Um. Aye, aye, captain.”

 

Natasha didn’t look up from a ridiculously heavy machine gun as she mused, “Steve, have you given any thought to our approach here? You don’t even have your umbrella.”

 

Steve’s eyes went wide. “My umbrella!” he exclaimed, looking up sharply as if it would magically appear.

 

“You have no formal combat training, no magical umbrella-shield, no magically bottomless bag, no weapons, and no plan,” she continued bluntly.

 

Steve frowned deeply at her. She didn’t sound mocking. Her tone suggested expectation. She was genuinely curious as to what Steve thought he was going to do.

 

Steve sighed, looking down at his hands. “I mean, even when I had nothing, I had Bucky,” he whispered to himself, then looked up, something dawning on him. “ _Bucky_.”

 

“Steve?” Natasha asked in confusion as he strode from the room.

 

“Don’t question him. He’s an old, forgetful grandpa,” he heard Tony say.

 

Steve quickly walked down the hall to the room where he knew Sam was working on Tony’s Wish. He hardly remembered to knock before he opened the door. “Sam,” he said, urgency lacing his tone.

 

Sam looked up from his makeshift worktable. “Steve?”

 

“Bucky didn’t remember me,” Steve said, and the words sent a lightning bolt of agony down his spine, but he ignored it.

 

“Right,” Sam said, the syllable drawn out.

 

“Bucky didn’t remember me,” Steve repeated.

 

“I know?” Sam said, as if unsure as to whether that was the right response.

 

“Is there a way to restore his memories? With magic?”

 

Sam pursed his lips, setting aside a few ingredients. “Well, it largely depends on how his memories were removed. There are a bunch of ways to do it magically. You know- spells, potions, veils, auras, chants, charms, curses-“

 

“I get the point,” Steve muttered, stomach turning.

 

“There’s also physical ways to lose your memories. You can hit your head, lose oxygen to the brain, experience brain deterioration. The possibilities are kind of limitless. I’ll need a little bit more to go on.”

Steve shook his head. “I don’t know how it happened. Is there, like, a blanket method of undoing it?”

 

Sam thought for a moment, then looked at Steve, clearly hesitant. “I mean,” he began, “Sure. There’s a blanket method for undoing any sort of harmful magic.”

 

“And?” Steve prompted, something good fluttering in his chest for the first time since he’d gotten to Zone 21.

 

“You’re not going to like it,” Sam said, expression hard to read.

 

“Try me.”

 

Sam hesitated for another moment before he said, “You could... I mean...”

 

“Sam.”

 

“There’s always true love’s kiss,” Sam managed, not making eye contact.

 

The room was silent for an agonizingly long moment.

 

Then, “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

 

Sam looked up quickly. “I know it sounds dumb and like it’s straight out of some damn storybook, but it has literally always worked on this type of shit.”

 

“How am I going to find Bucky’s true love?” Steve blurted frantically, panic rising.

 

Sam stared at him. “Um-“

 

“She’s probably been dead for, like, seventy years or some shit. Oh, god. Bucky’s going to be stuck like that.”

 

There was an uneasy gnawing in Steve’s gut. Beneath it bloomed the tiniest ray of hope, but Steve roughly shoved it down, angry with himself.

 

Sam muttered, “Told you that you weren’t going to like it.”

 

Steve made a distressed noise and exited the room without saying anything.

 

(He felt more out of control than he had ever felt in his entire life.)

 

Natasha’s perceptive eyes noted the defeated slump of Steve’s shoulders as he came back into the room and wordlessly started to clean the weapons again. She nudged his leg with her toe.

 

(Tony and Bruce were nowhere in sight. They were probably off doing something with science now that they were done arguing.)

 

“What up, dino-man?” she asked.

 

Steve scowled, furiously scrubbing the flat of a machete. “True love’s kiss,” he muttered.

 

“What?”

 

“Sam said that’s how we can get Bucky’s memories back. Fucking true love’s kiss.”

 

Natasha was quiet for a moment. “So, why are you so angry?”

 

The machete Steve was holding landed on the table with a clatter as Steve turned to Natasha to throw out his hands. “Nat, Bucky’s true love has been dead for at least fifteen years.”

 

Natasha raised a judgmental eyebrow. “Oh?”

 

“Every single girl he ever dated is dead,” Steve snarled. “I bet his true love is fucking Connie. I hated Connie.”

 

“Or,” Natasha said, looking at Steve like she thought he was the stupidest person to ever exist.

 

“Or,” Steve repeated blankly.

 

“ _You_ ’re Bucky’s true love, and you should get your head out of your ass.”

 

Steve scoffed, and the sound was horrible and bitter. “Me? Natasha, come on. You never knew him. He never- he didn’t see men that way.”

 

Natasha frowned. “Well, even if that’s true, who says true love can’t be platonic? If he’s not your soul mate-soul mate, then he sure as hell was your platonic soul mate. Regardless of whether it was romantic or not, you two were lifelong partners.”

 

“It’s a kiss, Natasha. It’s romantic.”

 

Natasha shrugged. “I mean, you could at least _try_.”

 

“You’re one to talk,” Steve muttered.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“I mean, you could at least _try_ telling Clint how you feel,” he said lowly, his words angry.

 

Natasha flinched, and her expression shuttered.

 

“Natasha-“

 

“No, I get it. Fine. We’re both cowards.”

 

“That’s not-“

 

“Save it. You know you meant it that way. I’m not stupid.”

 

The silence that followed was tense.

 

“If I follow through with this crazy idea, and I... kiss... Bucky,” Steve began falteringly, “then, uh, you have to talk to Clint.”

 

Natasha stared at Steve, her eyes hard. “Alright,” she finally whispered, a flash of fear flickering through her expression.

 

Steve nudged her. “He’d never reject you in a million years.”

 

Natasha swallowed visibly. “That’s not what I’m afraid of.”

 

“Then what?”

 

She looked away. “I’ll hurt him. I’ll get him killed.”

 

“You won’t,” Steve said firmly.

 

She shot him a desperate look. “How could you possibly know that?”

 

“Just having those fears means that you will do anything it takes to prevent it. The only way you can hurt him is by getting yourself hurt trying to protect him.”

 

Natasha searched his face, and then nodded slowly. “That was good.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “I try.”

 

“You should do this speaking thing more often,” she joked, bumping their shoulders together (she was on Steve’s uninjured side).

 

Steve bit down a grin. “Are you kidding? I’m the worst at talking.”

 

“Oh?”

 

Steve couldn’t help the tiny smile this time. “This one time, I was nannying for this single mom. Apparently, she was into me, so there was some flirting, if you could call it that.”

 

Natasha’s eyes sparkled. “What did you say?”

 

Steve ducked his head. “I- jeez- I called her a dame and thought a fun conversation was talking about everywhere I’d been beat up. And then I kissed somebody else in front of her.”

 

Natasha was startled into a laugh, eyes lighting. “You did not.”

 

“I did,” Steve groaned. “She was so mad. She actually was the most terrifying person in the world when she was angry. I guess it worked out in the end. We actually ended up dating until the kids didn’t need me anymore. Man, she was amazing.”

 

“See? You charm everyone, even if you do stupid shit like that every now and then.”

 

“I am not charming. Bucky was the charming one. I just made everyone angry.”

 

“Well, both positions have their merits.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed fondly, and his smile faded. “God, I miss him.”

 

“Tell me about it,” Natasha said.

 

“It’s like breathing without lungs, you know?” Steve said, unable to keep the thought contained. “It’s like walking without legs. Loving without my heart.”

 

Natasha reached over to give his hand a squeeze. “We’ll get him back.”

 

“And kill all the bastards that took him away in the first place,” Steve agreed, tone going hard.

 

“Exactly.”

 

They went back to cleaning weapons.

 

“So, what are you planning?” Natasha asked.

 

Steve rubbed at the back of his neck. “Well, I know that I don’t have any combat training or any skills at all-“ Natasha made a noise of protest, but Steve went on “-but Bucky does. He’s the most talented assassin in the Zone. I figured, if I can get him on our side, nothing can stop us. And if I can’t, I can at least distract him from helping the bad guys.”

 

“Okay, first of all, we’ll be having a lengthy discussion in regards to your sense of self-worth later.” Steve scowled. “But that’s actually a great plan.” Natasha turned to him fully. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I’ll infiltrate to go after Pierce. You go after Bucky. Kiss that son of a bitch. I promise he’ll remember you. We can discuss everyone else’s position later.”

 

Steve sighed. “Okay.”

 

“Good,” Natasha said smugly. “Now get back to that pistol. Firearms don’t clean themselves.”

 

“Yes, ma’am.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Natasha was assigned to Pierce.

 

Sam and Tony were assigned to Zola.

 

Clint was assigned to Brock.

 

And Steve was assigned to Bucky.

 

Steve’s shoulder was healing nicely, so he was no longer worried about it getting in the way. Besides, Steve’s mission was a suicide mission. There was nothing to stop him from dying if Bucky didn’t help them.

 

And, he was kind of embarrassingly glad for it.

 

(He kept getting these desperate looks. Maybe, some of these people actually cared enough to not want him dead. It was, despite everything, a soothing thought. But nobody was stupid enough to suggest a different plan. They all knew that the Ghost had to be taken care of, in one way or another.)

 

Steve didn’t know what he was going to do if he decided to try and go with the true love’s kiss thing. It wasn’t like he could get proper consent. Even if Steve did manage to push aside the idea of violation, what was he going to do if Bucky didn’t remember him? What was he going to do if Bucky _did_ remember him?

 

Steve swallowed heavily. It was a lose-lose situation. Steve was happy that he was probably going to die before the consequences caught up with him.

 

Tony was dressed in some kind of metal suit, delightedly chatting with Bruce about what it did and how it worked. He’d be carrying Sam and flying to Pierce’s castle.

 

Clint actually owned a helicopter, and he’d be flying Steve and Natasha over.

 

And, if everything worked out, they’d be meeting back at Tony’s safe house for dinner.

 

Steve thought of it sadly. If he died, he would surely miss dinner.

 

It was a depressing thought.

 

* * *

 

 

“Ready to go, bro?” Clint asked.

 

Steve nodded, shrugging to hide his nerves.

 

He was going to see Bucky again.

 

“Nat?” Clint asked, and the rough lines on his face seemed to smooth out as he looked at her.

 

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Like you even need to ask.”

 

Clint smirked. “I know. Don’t die, keep your head, and come back to me.”

 

“Don’t die, keep your head, and come back to me,” Natasha echoed, smiling a little. “Let’s move out, boys.” She turned to Steve, leaning forward to grasp the back of his neck. “You too,” she said lowly.

 

Steve didn’t reply. He just smiled sadly.

 

Natasha knocked their foreheads together and stepped away. She looked at Clint, who frowned questioningly as he briefly linked their fingers. Natasha shook her head ever so slightly, and he nodded.

 

They were ready.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sneaking into the castle was surprisingly easy once the mayhem started.

 

Finding Bucky was not.

 

He combed the vaguely chaotic hallways, searching for the familiar face behind unfamiliar limp hair.

 

Steve ended up bumping into him on accident.

 

He had just turned into what sounded like an empty hall, and collided dead into Bucky’s chest.

 

Bucky looked up, and frowned. “Again?” he said, and Steve’s heart performed an enthusiastic somersault.

 

“Always,” Steve managed.

 

Bucky grabbed Steve’s shoulders and slammed him hard into the nearest wall, keeping his face carefully neutral as he dug a metal finger into Steve’s healing stab wound. Steve gasped in pain, reflexively lashing out with a kick that ended up striking Bucky’s knee.

 

Bucky lost balance momentarily, and Steve pushed him away.

 

“Listen-“ he said, dodging a punch hat would’ve crushed his face “-I need to talk to you.”

 

Bucky grunted, throwing himself towards Steve again. And Steve didn’t know anything about professional combat, but he thought the move was a little bit sloppier than what he’d seen before. “No you don’t,” he growled, slamming his elbow into Steve’s nose.

 

Steve’s head snapped back, and he blinked away stars before saying, “Bucky, you know me.”

 

“ _No_ , I don’t,” Bucky all-but spat, and yeah. He was definitely getting sloppier.

 

Steve tried to ignore the sense of triumph in his gut, shoving Bucky away once more. Bucky staggered a step back before lunging forward again, hitting him in the stomach with his metal arm. Steve doubled over around it, and Bucky kicked at the backs of his knees so that he landed on his face on the marble ground.

 

Steve groaned, rolling over. “Bucky,” he gasped. “You do. And I know you.”

 

Bucky shook his head, and his hair swung around, almost mesmerizing Steve as he leaned over him. “Shut- the fuck- up.”

 

Bucky’s eyes were going all confused and frantic. Steve clung on to it, struggling to prop himself up on one elbow. “I can’t fight you,” he managed, searching Bucky’s face desperately, “And I never could. And I never will.”

 

Bucky swallowed visibly, leaning back to slam his metal fist into Steve’s face. “ _Stop_ ,” he snarled. He reached into his belt to pull out a gleaming handgun. Steve heard the safety click off, and all he could see was the barrel of the gun.

 

Not knowing what he was really doing, Steve let his fingers close around the barrel, guiding it to rest on his forehead. He closed his eyes. “Finish it.”

 

Bucky made a small, wounded noise in the back of his throat, and Steve felt the gun press harder into his skin.

 

Steve cracked an eye open, waiting for the blast with a sense of resignation. But Bucky yanked the gun back with a little growl.

 

For a moment, Steve thought he’d gotten through to him.

 

The blast that rang out was stunning in the quiet corridor. Steve would’ve screamed, but the cry was punched from his lungs. The barrel of the gun was pressed to Steve’s stomach, and he could feel his insides explode with the shot.

 

Bucky released the gun as if it had burned him, and the weapon clattered to the floor. He stared at Steve with wide eyes.

 

Steve couldn’t see through all the pain, but he knew that Bucky had stopped for at least a moment. He forced himself to look up into Bucky’s face, and the terrible confusion he saw there was torture. Steve shook his head, reaching up to cradle the side of Bucky’s face, his hand leaving a brilliant smear of blood in its wake. Bucky’s jawline felt just as defined as it looked.

 

“Bucky,” Steve breathed.

 

Bucky stared at him, as if the moment was paused. “Don’t,” he all-but begged.

 

“Please,” Steve whimpered.

 

“Can’t-“

 

“ _Please_ ,” Steve said again, and, praying that Natasha was right, gripped the back of Bucky’s neck and brought him down until their lips pressed together.

 

Bucky’s lips were chapped and rough against his. Steve felt sick with how much the feeling felt like coming home, because it wasn’t right. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

 

And Bucky went rigid and shoved away, glaring confusedly at Steve. “What,” he growled.

 

There was no recognition in his eyes.

 

Steve’s heart went cold.

 

“Buck-“

 

Bucky brought down his metal arm again, and the world shattered into darkness.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve hurt.

 

His eyelashes fluttered, and he tried to shift a little bit, but pain immediately wracked his body into a tight wire. He let out something between a groan and a whimper.

 

A calloused hand smoothed some of Steve’s hair away from his forehead with a hushing noise.

 

Steve looked up.

 

And there was Bucky, staring down at him with a lost expression, eyes clouded over.

 

Steve smiled brokenly. “You’re here. You stayed,” he mumbled, trying to reach up with the vague idea of touching him.

 

Bucky frowned, grabbing Steve’s hand with his metal one and pulling it against his chest where Steve could feel Bucky’s heart pounding. Steve turned his head a little bit. He was cradled in Bucky’s lap, still in the same hallway.

 

“Why?” Steve managed, trying not to cough.

 

Bucky’s brows knitted together as he studied Steve’s face. Finally, he whispered, “You know me.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed, shuddering. “Yeah, I do.”

 

The hand in his hair drifted down to press against the bleeding wound in his stomach. Steve sucked in a harsh breath. “Please, stay,” he murmured, disoriented and scared and hurt.

 

Bucky didn’t say anything.

 

“Please.”

 

“Yes,” he said after a small pause.

 

Some of the tension drained from Steve’s shoulders, abruptly enough that he instantly faded back into unconsciousness.

 

* * *

 

 

Steve groggily pushed his eyes open at the urgent sound of scuffling.

 

“STEVE!” someone- Sam?- shouted, skidding in front of him in the hallway.

 

“We win?” Steve asked, throat raw.

 

Sam visibly swallowed. “I think. We have to-“

 

Sam took a step forward, and Bucky’s arms tightened around Steve as he let out a warning growl.

 

Sam stopped in his tracks, eying Bucky warily. “Hey, man, I’m just trying to look and see how badly he needs medical attention.”

 

Sam slowly reached a hand forward, and Bucky squirmed away. “ _Mine_ ,” he snapped.

 

Shooting Steve an alarmed look, Sam reluctantly withdrew his hand, eyes going back to Steve’s bloody stomach.

 

“Buck, he wants to help,” Steve whispered, eyes drooping. “He helped me.”

 

Steve didn’t get to know what happened next because unconsciousness took him away once more.

 

* * *

 

 

“...and I killed that son of a bitch, grabbed your umbrella and your bag, and got the hell out of there. When Sam brought you and Barnes to the plane, I thought we were doomed. But Barnes helped stem the bleeding until we got to Bruce, and you survived. The castle is still kind of in anarchy. I hear James Rhodes and Brock Rumlow are fighting for the throne. Although, nobody knows how Rumlow’s fighting at all. We suspect magic. Clint really left the guy to die.”

 

“Huh,” Steve said, gratefully eying his umbrella and bag.

 

“Did you do it?” Natasha asked from his bedside.

 

Bucky was glaring at her menacingly from the corner, but he didn’t say anything. His only reaction was to bare his teeth any time Natasha got too close to him.

 

“I tried,” Steve mumbled, knowing Natasha was asking about the true love’s kiss fiasco.

 

Her eyes flashed. “Did it work?”

 

Steve closed his eyes. “No.”

 

The silence stretched on.

 

“Oh.”

 

“It’s okay. At least now I know you and Clint will get to be happy.”

 

Panic crossed over Natasha’s features. “Oh, god. What do I tell him?”

 

Steve forced his eyes open. “The truth, maybe.”

 

“Funny,” Natasha deadpanned.

 

“’M serious. Write odes to his biceps. Sonnets about his bitch face.”

 

Natasha laughed. “Why don’t we put you on pain meds more often? Jeez, Steve.”

 

“Buck,” Steve said irritably, “Tell Nat that Clint would appreciate sonnets and shit.”

 

Bucky inclined his head slightly, which was an unmistakable “yes” from him.

 

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Or, I could just kiss his face.”

 

“Consent,” Steve said urgently, “Ask first.”

 

“Yep. Now I see how you were a nanny,” Natasha sighed.

 

“Natasha,” Steve warned.

 

She groaned. “Fine. I’ll tell you what happens. And Steve?”

 

“Mmmmm?”

 

She grabbed his hand (drawing an irked grunt from Bucky, and he started forward almost murderously) and gave it a squeeze. “Don’t give up hope.” She withdrew her hand, eyes flicking meaningfully to Bucky’s stalled form before exiting the bedroom seamlessly.

 

Steve lifted his arm towards Bucky, trying not to think about Natasha’s words. “Sit with me?”

 

Bucky pursed his lips and shook his head with jerky movements. “May hurt you,” he said quietly.

 

“No,” was the most eloquent argument Steve could make to that.

 

“Rest, Rogers.” Despite the pain at the formality in Bucky’s tone, Steve let his heavy eyelids slide shut.

 

And when he briefly woke up later in the night, he found Bucky curled into a ball at the foot of Steve’s bed, arm twisted awkwardly to rest on the sheets next to Steve.

 

Steve smiled dazedly, weakly grabbing Bucky’s hand before drifting off again.

 

* * *

 

 

After the lucidity set in, so did the restlessness.

 

“I can get up,” Steve snapped, already propped up on his elbows (that were _not_ trembling- _shut the fuck up_ ).

 

“No,” Bucky said from his corner.

 

“It’s been a few days. I’m fucking fine.”

 

“No,” Bucky said again, looking somehow pleased with himself.

 

It figured that this would be one of the only personality traits that had remained completely intact- maybe even increased in intensity.

 

Bucky was paranoid and protective as fuck.

 

“You know what this is?” Steve fumed. “This is fucking bourgeoisie. I have rights, and I want to walk around right now, and you’re restricting my rights.”

 

Bucky actually sighed, looked him straight in the eye, and levelly said, “Shut the fuck up, Steve.”

 

Even though he was properly furious, warmth bloomed through Steve’s chest. This was almost normal, even if Bucky didn’t remember him. It felt normal.

 

Steve stewed in his anger for a while as Bucky tentatively plucked a book from a shelf in the room Steve was being held prisoner in.

 

“You know who would let me walk around?” Steve asked, then allowed a theatric pause. “Tony. And Clint. They’d let me up.”

 

“That’s because they’re idiots,” Bucky said without looking up from his book.

 

Steve shoved down the delight at Bucky’s statement. He was starting to talk more. His personality was shining through, even if it was a little different.

 

After another five minutes of silence, Steve sighed loudly. “I’m so bored. Oh my god. I have to do something.”

 

Bucky looked up, irritated. “Like what?”

 

“Like, I don’t fucking know. Walk around?”

 

“Steven Grant Rogers,” Bucky said sharply, and Steve instantly straightened, “You will do no such thing.”

 

(Steve had never mentioned his full name. Was Bucky remembering? Could he be remembering? Steve snuffed out the thought before it could fully form.)

 

“But I’m bored.”

 

“Then _sleep_.”

 

“I’m not tired.”

 

“Then- I don’t know- draw.”

 

Steve watched Bucky carefully. “Why draw?”

 

Bucky looked uncomfortable. “You just seem like the artsy type.”

 

Steve opened his mouth to reply, but he never got the chance. Bruce opened the door to come check on him, and Bucky closed up tightly, acting like he was immersed in his book while clearly keeping a wary eye on Bruce.

 

Bruce redressed Steve’s wound, muttering under his breath about slow progress. He gave Steve a tight smile and left quickly.

 

Bucky wordlessly brought Steve a notebook and pen after he had gone.

 

Steve frowned, delicately holding the instrument, poised breathlessly above the paper. He hesitated for a long moment before pressing down, letting the ink bleed in a small, dark circle around the point. Steve puffed out a breath, and suddenly couldn’t stop himself. The pen came scratching down in smooth arcs, and Steve was lost to the world of the paper.

 

When he came back to himself, the picture was of Bucky sitting in his chair and pretending to read. Steve smiled fondly at it. He turned the book around to show Bucky, whose lips quirked for half a second before he schooled his expression and looked back down at his book.

 

Steve kept his massive celebration internal. He’d made Bucky sort-of smile.

 

* * *

 

 

As Steve was drawing, Clint burst into the room, startling both Steve and Bucky as he approached Steve and smacked a loud kiss onto his cheek.

 

Steve stared in surprise. Clint’s shirt was buttoned up the wrong way, there was some lipstick smeared on the corner of his mouth, and the bruises on his neck did not look combat-inflicted. He was grinning dopily as he said, “ _Thank you_ ,” and left as quickly as he came.

 

Bucky looked at Steve, struggling to hide his bewilderment. Steve giggled. “I guess Nat made her move.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Do not fuck this up.”

 

“How could I fuck up _walking_ , Buck?”

 

Bucky offered a noncommittal grunt.

 

“I mean,” Tony piped up helpfully, “If anybody could fuck it up, it’d be you.”

 

“Thanks,” Steve grumbled as Bucky shot him a glare.

 

Bucky outstretched his arms. Steve gripped them tightly to lever himself to his feet. His stomach spasmed, and he gasped, leaning forward into Bucky’s chest.

 

Bucky grabbed his shoulders, making sure he was steady. “I told you it was too soon,” he muttered darkly.

 

“I’m fine,” Steve snapped, attempting to push himself out of Bucky’s arms.

 

“Oh, no you don’t,” Tony sang as Bucky’s grip on Steve’s shoulders turned vise-like.

 

“I’m not a fucking toddler!”

 

“That’s right. You’re a grown man who got shot pretty good in the guts,” Tony replied evenly.

 

Steve felt Bucky tense. When he looked at him, Bucky’s eyes were trained on the ground. Steve carefully nudged him, but Bucky didn’t react. Steve decided to dwell on it later.

 

“I’m fine,” Steve repeated, attempting to take a lurching step.

 

When Steve immediately lost balance, Bucky caught him around the waist with his metal arm. “I told you so.”

 

“You fucking _jerk_! I’m handling it fine!”

 

Bucky gave him an unimpressed look, arching an eyebrow. “By all means, Rogers. I can sit down and watch you attempt to stand upright.”

 

Steve scowled. “Fine.”

 

Bucky stood back, holding up both hands. The only thing that betrayed his air of nonchalance was his gaze- he was watching Steve like a hawk.

 

Steve lifted his chin and took a wobbly step forward, ignoring the spasms of pain that assaulted his gut.

 

He managed about two more steps before he had to collapse back on to the bed, trembling. “See?” he said weakly. “I can get by on my own.”

 

Bucky sighed. “You dumb punk.”

 

Warmth bled through Steve’s exhaustion and irritation, letting a slow smile curl onto his lips. “Yeah,” he agreed, sighing the word out.

 

“Okay,” Tony said, and Steve suddenly remembered that he was in the room. “Okay. Wow.”

 

“What?” Steve grumbled, annoyed and tired.

 

“Is this how you two were before? Because, seriously. For real. Like, seriously.”

 

“You’re saying words, Tony, but they aren’t meaning anything,” Steve said.

 

Tony coughed. “Right. Anyway. I should- Sam is finishing my Wish. I have a Pepper to locate.”

 

“Good luck.”

 

As Tony left, Bucky came back to where Steve had haphazardly collapsed on the edge of the bed. He wordlessly helped Steve back under the covers, dutifully ignoring when Steve furiously wiped away tears born of pain.

 

Steve felt almost delirious when he laid back. That was probably why he said, “You’re being more you. Are you remembering anything?”

 

Bucky was silent, and Steve immediately wanted to take his words back.

 

“I mean-“

 

“No,” Bucky said firmly. “And I’m not him. Whoever you think of when you look at me.”

 

Steve frowned. “But...”

 

“No,” he said again, glowering at Steve from behind his hair. “He was Bucky. I’m the Ghost.”

 

Steve closed his eyes, feeling resentful all of a sudden. “So what? You want me to start calling you Zola’s ‘greatest work of art’? Want me to call you ‘ _mein kätzchen’_?”

 

Bucky flinched. Steve wanted to revoke the words once more, but he said nothing.

 

After a while, Bucky whispered. “I... You can call me whatever you want.”

 

Steve shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “That was low.”

 

Bucky didn’t respond. He just retreated to his corner and opened the book he had been reading.

 

Steve didn’t know how to fix it. He was so out of his depth here. Here was Bucky, and he was back, but he wasn’t Bucky. Steve had no idea what to do.

 

Instead of thinking about it, Steve let his exhaustion carry him to a dreamless sleep.

 

* * *

 

 

They didn’t talk about it.

 

Steve reasoned with himself: it was an in-the-moment decision. Bucky was confused and being manipulated and brainwashed at the time. What Happens Under Brainwashed Conditions Stays Under Brainwashed Conditions.

 

That didn’t mean that Steve didn’t guiltily _think_ about their kiss all the damn time.

 

Because it had happened. Steve had tried, for whatever desperately deluded reason, to give Bucky true love’s kiss.

 

But, obviously, they couldn’t be true loves. Bucky’s absent memory attested to it.

 

And Steve would’ve been lying if he said that he hadn’t hoped just a little bit. He thought he had an ounce of a chance for just one moment.

 

But hope was dangerous. One moment, you were fine with loving your best friend from afar, and the next moment... you were... not fine with it at all.

 

All thanks to a small spark of hope.

 

Steve tried not to be resentful towards the world, but it was difficult when the world never seemed to repay his efforts. The truth was, Steve was just tired. He had slept for seventy years, but he was so tired all the damn time- probably for a long time even before he was transported to Zone 21. If he’d been honest with himself, he’d recognize that he’d been tired ever since he found Peter Parker at the base of the stairs, an odd angle to his neck and no light in his expressive eyes.

 

In the few weeks that Bucky had been with them at Tony’s safe house, he had shown little personality. He was, however, aggressively protective, agitated, and paranoid most of the time. He rarely spoke when he was alone with Steve and became completely unresponsive or downright hostile when someone else was present.

 

And Steve was thrilled that Bucky was here and that he was alive. It just wasn’t what he’d necessarily expected.

 

Not that he’d expected fields of flowers and sunshine and heart-shaped chocolate. He’d just assumed that things wouldn’t be completely shitty.

 

Steve felt horrible for thinking badly of the situation. Bucky was _alive_. That was all he could ask for. But, like the selfish bastard he was, he wanted more.

 

Steve sat sketching on the bed, jittery and in a generally bad mood as Bucky watched him out of the corner of his eye. Steve glared angrily at the drawing he was trying to create. It was turning out all wrong. None of the lines felt right. Everything was just so out of place. It wasn’t right.

 

He got the sense that neither him nor Bucky were surprised when Steve grabbed the pen and the sketchbook and angrily threw them across the room, his stomach muscles protesting loudly as the pages fluttered noisily on the way to the floor.

 

“I didn’t think you were _that_ bad of an artist,” Bucky said in a monotone, and it took Steve a second to figure out that he was trying for a joke.

 

Steve just shook his head, staring at his hands. They had started to shake. “It wasn’t right,” he said quietly.

 

Bucky nimbly walked over to the book, picking it up to inspect the drawing. He frowned in confusion. “It looks fine to me.”

 

“It’s not!” Steve exploded. “Nothing is right anymore- I don’t- you don’t get it.”

 

Bucky looked surprised, leaning backwards as if Steve’s hysteria was contagious. “Um-“

 

“Please don’t look at it,” Steve pleaded. “It’s horrible. It shouldn’t be seen.”

 

“Rogers,” Bucky said with a sigh. “It’s just a sketch.”

 

But it wasn’t just a sketch, was it? Steve didn’t say anything, glaring morosely at his hands instead.

 

“Look, do you want me to leave?” Bucky asked suddenly, his tone as even as ever. “What do you want?”

 

Steve looked up sharply, panic twisting through his gut. “No- don’t-“

 

Bucky approached him and warily perched on the edge of the bed. “What do you want?” he repeated.

 

“I don’t know,” Steve whispered. Bucky’s frown deepened, and Steve sighed resignedly. “I want you to be safe,” he tried.

 

“What?” Bucky said, caught off-guard.

 

“Don’t leave unless you really want to. Please. I can’t keep you safe if you’re not here.”

 

To Steve’s shock, Bucky’s lips curved upwards in the approximation of a smile. “You? Keep _me_ safe? Steve, I’m a trained assassin. I can take care of myself. _You_ , on the other hand...”

 

“I’m perfectly capable on my own,” Steve cut in.

 

“Look where it got you,” Bucky said bitterly, moving his hand to rest gingerly on Steve’s stomach, over the gauze that hid the scar tissue of the bullet wound.

 

(Steve tried to ignore the thrill that went straight to his groin.)

 

“Buck, you’re the one who did that,” Steve argued weakly.

 

Bucky’s face darkened. “Which, as you keep insisting, was not my fault.”

 

Steve flushed. “It wasn’t. It was-“

 

“Zola’s,” Bucky cut in coolly, retracting his hand almost robotically. Steve missed the warmth instantly.

 

“Are you ever gonna tell me what he did to you?” Steve asked.

 

“Not now. We hardly even know each other.”

 

Steve jerked backwards as if he’d been punched. His lips parted in a breathless sort of pain. “Oh,” he managed, and the words sounded as if it had been scraped from his throat.

 

Bucky scowled. “You knew me from _before_. I don’t even know me from before. It’s not the same as knowing me.”

 

Steve concentrated on the feeling of physical pain in his gut rather than the visceral pain of Bucky’s words. “Right. I’m- I think I need-“

 

Bucky stood and walked back to his seat in the corner, evidently making sense of Steve’s stammering.

 

Steve turned on his side, his back to Bucky, and pretended to sleep while Bucky pretended not to notice that he was pretending.

 

* * *

 

 

“Natasha and Clint went on a follow up mission to get rid of Brock Rumlow.”

 

Steve sat up straighter, staring at Sam. “They didn’t say goodbye.”

 

Sam scoffed. “It’s not like one lousy Huntsman can do much damage to Blackbeard and Robin Hood when they work together. Hell, even when they work alone, they’re pretty unstoppable. I wouldn’t worry if I were you.”

 

“I’m not worried,” Steve protested, annoyed. “I just thought Nat and I were friends.”

 

Sam eyed Steve with an unimpressed expression. “Yeah. That’s why she didn’t say goodbye. It’s taboo.”

 

Steve huffed irritably. “Fine,” he grumbled, then turned to look at Bruce, who was cleaning the healing wound in his stomach. “Am I off bed-rest yet?”

 

Bruce straightened, cleaning his glasses absentmindedly. “Um. Yeah, you look like you should be fine to walk around now. I’d start slow, though.”

 

But Steve, suddenly cheerful, immediately swung himself off the bed and stretched his legs. The twinge of pain in his gut was nothing compared to what it had been. “Thanks,” he said brightly.

 

Sam sighed. “Do you ever listen to anyone?”

 

“No,” Bucky grumbled sullenly from his corner. When Bruce and Sam stared at him in surprise, he just shrank back, hiding a glower behind his hair.

 

“He’s right,” Steve added happily, taking long strides across the room with delight and ignoring how tired he already felt.

 

Sam took a step towards Steve. “Dude,” he said, reaching for Steve’s arm. But, as he did so, Bucky made a threatening noise and rose smoothly from his perch in the corner, baring his teeth almost savagely as he grabbed Steve’s bicep and towed him out of the room, eyes on Sam the whole time.

 

“That really isn’t necessary,” Steve argued, but there was no bite to his words. He was too happy with walking around to be angry at Bucky’s overprotectiveness for the moment.

 

“He was about to _touch_ you,” Bucky snapped, as if that made things perfectly reasonable.

 

“People other than you are allowed to touch me, Buck.”

 

“No,” Bucky said lowly.

 

Steve couldn’t help but wonder if Bucky’s attachment to him was because of something instinctual and blind or if Bucky actually wanted to be doing this. Steve abruptly didn’t feel as happy.

 

“Hey, Buck?” he said as Bucky continued guiding him around the house.

 

Bucky grunted vaguely.

 

“Do you actually want to be here?”

 

Bucky’s gaze flicked towards Steve for a moment before he stared forward. Steve thought he was going to ignore the question until he muttered, “Nowhere else to go.”

 

Steve’s heart sank. “Well, uh, you’re welcome to stay with me as long as you want, but I would never force you to stay. I mean, I wouldn’t assume you wanted to stay. Especially with me, given everything that’s happened with us. It would make me sad if you left- really sad- but I’m not trying to keep you prisoner or anything like-”

 

“Steve?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Shut the fuck up.”

 

Steve ducked his head in embarrassment. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

 

Bucky nudged his elbow into Steve’s ribs. “You’re an idiot. I can’t leave you five minutes on your own without you going batshit. Don’t be stupid.”

 

Steve didn’t lift his head, trying to hide the goofy smile that overtook his features. “I see.”

 

“Good,” Bucky said firmly.

 

“But we do need to talk about how you handle the others,” Steve said, suddenly serious.

 

Bucky sighed, and Steve thought he caught him rolling his eyes.

 

“They’re who the umbrella took me to. They can be trusted. And they’re my friends. You don’t have to act like they’re threats.”

 

“What if they are?” Bucky argued, sounding almost petulant.

 

“Then use your scary assassin skills. But only then. You don’t need to scare them away. I like them.”

 

Bucky sighed in exhaustion. “Fine. But I’m only doing this because you’re making that damn face.”

 

“What face?”

 

Bucky pointed at Steve’s head, frowning. “Seriously? Has Past-Me never pointed it out to you?” he asked incredulously.

 

“Um?”

 

“It’s like this,” Bucky said, then contorted his features so that his jaw jutted out stubbornly and his eyes shown with stern authority, eyebrows knitted together.

 

Steve blinked. “I don’t do that.”

 

“You do,” Bucky said. “I’ve been calling it your Dad Face behind your back.”

 

“Sure,” Steve muttered, “Because you’ve been gossiping with Tony about my expressions.”

 

“Shut up,” Bucky said with no heat.

 

Just then, they saw Sam walking towards the kitchen. “Hey, Sam!” Steve said, waving a little.

 

Sam stopped to smile at them toothily. “How’s walking around?”

 

“Good,” Steve said at the same time that Bucky said, “Have you seen Steve’s Dad Face?”

 

Steve and Sam both turned to look at Bucky, who looked distinctly uncomfortable. But Sam, being Sam, got over it quickly. He grinned. “I’ve been calling it his Nanny Face, actually.”

 

“What?” Steve said, looking at Sam with betrayal.

 

“You know. ‘Cause he’s a nanny,” Sam snickered.

 

“Steve’s a _nanny_?” Bucky asked, looking surprised.

 

“Yeah, man,” Sam said smoothly.

 

“A magical nanny,” Steve grumbled.

 

Sam laughed while Bucky looked at Steve with something that could have arguably been bemusement. “You guys want some lunch? I was just about to start cooking.”

 

“Yeah, I could eat,” Steve said, perking up.

 

Steve dragged Bucky into the kitchen and watched in fascination as Sam got into the zone. He started cooking fancy omelets, but didn’t stop there, moving on to make three batches of cupcakes, some fancy lasagna dish for “later,” and an apple pie. As he cooked, he chatted easily with Steve about nothing in particular, Bucky occasionally making a slightly strained effort to contribute to the conversation.

 

That was, until the tone shifted slightly.

 

“Man,” Sam said, tasting the frosting of a cupcake. “Riley would’ve loved these.”

 

“Who’s Riley?” Bucky asked warily, eyes narrowing as he considered whether or not the name belonged to another potential threat.

 

Sam looked a little surprised with himself. “Oh, I can’t believe I said that out loud. Sorry about that. Riley was my best friend,” Sam said quietly, looking sheepish.

 

Steve frowned at the past tense.

 

“Died in an accident with an irked customer,” Sam said, his voice lowering almost subconsciously. “They wanted a Wish, but when they tried to raise someone from the dead an it didn’t work, they got mad. Shot Riley straight through the skull.”

 

There was a pause before Bucky said with surprising softness, “I’m sorry.”

 

Sam shrugged. “I just don’t talk about him much. Sorry if I kind of unloaded on you there.”

 

Bucky shook his head. “You didn’t.”

 

“It means a lot that you felt comfortable enough to share with us,” Steve added quietly.

 

Sam stared at his cupcakes. “I usually cook when I think about him.” He then blinked rapidly, starting to notice the state of the kitchen. “Shit, how much did I cook?” he asked.

 

“A lot,” Steve said, smiling tentatively.

 

Sam grinned. “Well, at least my coping mechanisms are productive and tasty. Cupcakes?”

 

After they finished eating, Bucky and Sam insisted that Steve get back to bed. “You’ll strain yourself and be doomed to even more bed-rest,” Sam said threateningly as Bucky nodded along solemnly.

 

Bucky tucked him in carefully, and Steve smiled at him. “You talked to Sam,” he said in wonder.

 

Bucky shrugged. “It wasn’t a big deal. He’s friendly.”

 

“You like him?” Steve asked gleefully.

 

“I think so,” Bucky said, still trying for casual.

 

“Bucky?”

 

“Yeah, Steve?”

 

“Thank you.”

 

Bucky looked at him, and Steve thought he imagined the fond glint to his eyes. “Anytime,” he whispered.

 

This time, he snatched his book and read it as he sat on the foot of Steve’s bed. For once, Steve could tell he was giving the book the majority of his attention.

 

* * *

 

 

“TONY!” Bruce shouted happily, embracing his friend warmly. “Did you find her?” he demanded.

 

Tony was clearly exhausted but tried for a winning smile. “What the hell did you expect, man? Of course I did.”

 

Right on cue, a beautiful woman walked into the house on Tony’s heels. She looked near-tears with joy. “Bruce?”

 

“Pepper,” Bruce breathed and hugged her next.

 

Tony looked at Sam, Bucky, and Steve tiredly. “Hey, Sammy. Hey, Mama Rogers. Hey, Mama Rogers’ Boyfriend.”

 

“We missed you too, Tony,” Sam said, smiling. “How was the journey?”

 

Tony waved a hand. “Nothing I couldn’t handle. There was some annoying thing with grapes that I’ll have to tell you about later. Oh, and now Pepper can control fire. Who’s hungry?”

 

There was a little pause as Pepper pulled away from her hug with Bruce to glare at Tony. Sam soon interrupted the look with, “There’s some leftover chocolate cake in the fridge.”

 

“Leftovers?” Tony said distastefully. “Ew. Give those to Steve and Ghosty Barnes. Make me something fresh.”

 

Pepper whacked the back of Tony’s head. “Tony...”

 

“Ugh. Fine. I’ll be nice. Chocolate cake sounds wonderful, Mr. Wilson.”

 

Sam herded Tony and Pepper into the kitchen, and Bruce followed closely after.

 

Steve turned to Bucky. “You hungry?”

 

Bucky was frowning. “Did he get meaner?” he asked.

 

Steve shook his head. “I think he’s tired and cranky. I’ll make sure he gets to sleep right after he eats, and his humor will be a lot more tasteful in the morning.”

 

“’Kay.” Bucky looked a little tired himself.

 

“When’s the last time you slept?”

 

Bucky shrugged. “Dunno.”

 

“Bucky...”

 

Bucky glared up at him. “Stop trying to nanny me.”

 

Steve scowled. “I’m trying to make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”

 

“Fuck you,” Bucky muttered, stalking into the kitchen and leaving Steve alone in the hallway.

 

Steve figured he probably needed a moment to himself, but his skin felt like it was crawling now that he couldn’t see Bucky. He felt almost sick as his heart rate started to accelerate. He couldn’t see Bucky. Bucky could literally be doing anything right now. He could be getting hurt- somehow. He could- he could-

 

Steve sank to the floor, trying to calm himself down. This was ridiculous. He could go five minutes by himself. Bucky was fine. Bucky was-

 

“Stevie?” came Bucky’s voice, and the tension drained from Steve’s shoulders. Steve was an idiot, and Bucky was fine.

 

Bucky’s metal hand touched Steve’s cheek, and Steve leaned into the cold, grounding touch.

 

“What happened?” Bucky demanded, sounding frantic. “Are you okay?”

 

Steve cleared his throat, face going hot with shame. “Yeah, just tired. Needed to sit down a minute.”

 

Bucky stared at him, not believing a word.

 

When Steve stared at him stubbornly, Bucky sighed and looked away, dropping his hand. “Fine. Don’t tell me. Come on. Sam made some impressive-looking fish thing.”

 

Bucky helped Steve to his feet and led him to the kitchen.

 

He couldn’t meet anyone’s eye for the rest of the day.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Steve awoke to a hand covering his mouth.

 

He inhaled sharply, eyes snapping open in fear for a moment.

 

He relaxed when he saw it was Natasha, and she removed her hand, pressing a finger to her lips instead.

 

She gestured for Steve to follow her, and he slipped silently out of bed, letting his eyes comb over Bucky’s sleeping form. He’d be back in a minute, and Bucky would be right where he left him. It would be okay.

 

To his surprise, Natasha led Steve just outside. “Hey,” she said, sounding tired.

 

“Hey. How’d the thing go?”

 

Natasha lifted a shoulder nonchalantly. “James Rhodes took the throne, and Brock Rumlow won’t be causing us trouble anymore.”

 

Sensing more to her tone, Steve arched an eyebrow. “But...?”

 

Natasha looked at the ground for a minute. “He made sure that the world knows who Blackbeard really is,” she said quietly, seeming to shrink in on herself. “I blew all my covers. I gotta go find a new one.”

 

Steve looked at her, concerned. “You know you don’t have to do that. Why don’t you just try being you?”

 

Natasha looked at him sadly. “I’ve gotta figure out who that is, Steve. I can’t be around people I care about like this. I need to reinvent myself into something I like, and I can’t be around you guys for that.”

 

“Okay,” Steve said hesitantly, pursing his lips as his eyes wandered to Natasha’s wrist, which looked red and angry. Natasha saw his glance and strategically put her hand slightly behind her back. “How long you think you’ll be gone?”

 

Natasha looked away again. “I don’t know,” she said miserably.

 

Something dawned on Steve. “Clint doesn’t know you’re leaving, does he?”

 

Natasha shook her head.

 

“And you’re not taking him with you?”

 

She shook her head again. “I need to find out who I can be without him. I... I know it sounds dumb but-“

 

“It’s not,” Steve cut in. “Seeing the person I was without Bucky was terrible, but it was good too. I know what you mean.”

 

“It’s a little different. I’ve never been a real person without Clint.”

 

Steve nodded. “I know. But I also know why you need to get away. I don’t know if Clint will feel the same, but I’ll try and handle the damage.”

 

Natasha hugged her sides. “Uh. Make sure that he knows this doesn’t change how I feel.”

 

“Yeah,” Steve said quietly.

 

Natasha pulled him forward, enveloping Steve in a tight hug for a long moment.

 

“Be careful,” Steve told her.

 

“Please,” she scoffed, leaning back with a slightly forced smirk.

 

And then she was gone with a swish of red hair, into the darkness.

 

Steve walked back to his room in a daze, wondering what he was going to tell Clint. God, he’d never been good at dealing with sad or angry kids. Bucky had always been the one to cheer them up. He didn’t even know if that would hold firm anymore.

 

When Steve got back to the room, he saw Bucky frantically inspecting the latch on the window, his breaths hitched.

 

“Bucky?” Steve whispered.

 

Bucky froze, shoulders bunching together for an instant before slumping. He whirled around to face Steve, face pinched. “Where were you?” he asked in a small voice.

 

“Talking to Nat,” Steve said, concern making his forehead wrinkle. “You okay?”

 

Steve took a few small steps forward, seeing Bucky’s lip trembled a bit. “I thought-“

 

Steve had reached Bucky now, and he raised his hands halfway towards Bucky, a question in his eyes. Bucky leaned into Steve’s chest, fingers twisting into the fabric of his shirt as Steve wrapped his arms securely around Bucky’s back.

 

(Bucky’s back had gotten a lot more muscular.)

 

“I thought you were gone. Or hurt. Or both,” Bucky said in a small voice.

 

“I’m here,” Steve murmured. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Please don’t leave again,” Bucky breathed. “Not again.”

 

“What do you mean, ‘again’?” Steve asked, confused.

 

Bucky stilled before shaking his head slightly. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

 

Steve took a deep breath, tucking his face into Bucky’s hair for an instant before he said, “Let’s try and get some more sleep.”

 

Bucky sighed and moved to get out of Steve’s embrace, but Steve didn’t move his arms. “Stevie?” Bucky asked, and Steve felt a small bubble of happiness rise up at the sound of the nickname.

 

“C’mon,” Steve said, dragging them over to the bed. “Cuddle up. Just for tonight.”

 

Bucky went with him, surprisingly pliant, and curled into Steve’s chest like a cat.

 

“You ever get tired?” Bucky mumbled drowsily, half-asleep.

 

“Yeah,” Steve said. “All the damn time.”

 

“Me too,” Bucky whispered.

 

Steve fell into unconsciousness more easily than he had in ages.

 

* * *

 

 

“Where’s Nat?” Clint asked the next morning after he had drunk an entire batch of coffee straight from the pot.

 

Steve winced. He had hoped he’d be able to wait a bit longer. “She’s not here,” he said.

 

Clint looked at Steve critically. “Why?”

 

“Rumlow spilled her identity. She has to go lay low for a while.”

 

Clint’s lips parted in surprise. “But she can lay low here,” he protested, face already going pale.

 

Steve shook his head. “She wants to reinvent herself.”

 

“Oh,” Clint whispered, the noise wheezing out of him. “Oh.”

 

“You okay?” Steve asked, nudging his knee against Clint’s.

 

“I just wished she would’ve told me herself,” Clint muttered, lurching to his feet. “I, uh, gotta go be by myself for a while.”

 

As he was leaving the kitchen, Steve said, “Clint?”

 

Clint didn’t reply, but he paused.

 

“She loves you.”

 

“Yeah,” Clint said bitterly. “Sure she does.” The self-deprecating sarcasm in his voice startled Steve to silence. He had no idea that Clint thought that lowly of himself.

 

He was powerless to do anything else as Clint stalked from the room.

 

But Clint came back fifteen minutes later with swollen eyes and said, “I’m not angry at her, you know. I’m just sad that I won’t get to see her. I’m sad that she doesn’t trust me with herself.”

 

“You know she trusts you more than anyone in the world,” Steve said pointedly. “She wants to see who she’ll be without that kind of influence. She wants to see if she’d even like herself without you being around.”

 

Clint was quiet for a long time. “Did you like yourself without Bucky?”

 

“No,” he said immediately.

 

“I like you better with Bucky too,” Clint admitted. “By the way, where is he?”

 

Steve smiled fondly. “Sleeping.”

 

“Are you two fucking?” Clint asked with such innocence that Steve choked on his coffee.

 

“Um,” Steve coughed, “no.”

 

“Shame,” Clint said.

 

Before Steve could reply, Bucky trudged into the room, looking adorably sleep-rumpled. His hair was atrocious, there were marks on his face from some sort of fabric being pressed against his cheek, and he was glaring at the room so darkly that Steve was surprised nothing had exploded under his gaze.

 

“Morning,” Steve said brightly, handing Bucky a cup of coffee that was already sugary and creamy.

 

Bucky made a disgruntled noise, sending Steve a venomous look as he grabbed the coffee and sipped it religiously, dropping into the chair next to Steve and sprawling his legs out under the table.

 

Steve smiled at the tabletop. Sometimes, Bucky was predictable and so like his old self that Steve wanted to cry. But other times, Bucky would take Steve completely by surprise and do something he’d never done before in his life.

 

Bucky had always been a morning person before. His newfound grumpiness was something Steve found more endearing than was probably socially appropriate.

 

“I feel that, man,” Clint was saying solemnly, nodding at Bucky.

 

Bucky grunted noncommittally, sipping his coffee.

 

“Clint drank the entire pot straight from the thing,” Steve added.

 

Bucky straightened a little bit to give Clint a doubtful once-over. After a pause, though, he inclined his head appraisingly. Clint grinned.

 

“I think we’re gonna get along well, bro,” Clint said, getting to his feet. “Now, I’m gonna go soak in my own misery and watch reality television.”

 

“If you need me, you’ll know where to find me.”

 

Clint offered a thumbs-up before leaving the kitchen again, a defeated slump to his shoulders.

 

Bucky nudged his foot against Steve’s. “What’s got blondie so down?” he asked gruffly.

 

“Nat left.”

 

Bucky arched an eyebrow but said nothing else.

 

“She’ll be back, though. Eventually.”

 

Bucky returned his full attention to the remaining sips of his coffee, and they lapsed into comfortable silence.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The difficult thing about it was that Steve was in love with Bucky from before, and this Bucky was just different enough to completely confuse Steve.

 

Did the love automatically carry over to who Bucky was now? Or was Steve just clinging to him out of familiarity?

 

“You’re so bad at this,” Bucky said flatly.

 

Steve scowled. “It’s not like I had much time to adjust.”

 

“More time than me.”

 

“Liar.”

 

“I was in Zola’s lab basically the entire time.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes. “Well, if you’re so much better at adjusting, then why don’t you do it?” Steve asked petulantly, gesturing to the tablet.

 

Bucky reached for it and pressed down on all the visible buttons. When nothing happened, he frowned. “Maybe you have to hold the buttons down for a longer time?” he asked uncertainly.

 

They both reared back in surprise when the screen lit up. “Holy shit!” Steve exclaimed, bumping his shoulder into Bucky’s. “You did it!”

 

Bucky tried to smother a smile. “Please. A kindergartener could do it.”

 

“You’re probably right.”

 

Bucky dropped his chin onto Steve’s shoulder as they stared at the screen, which was now displaying the date and time.

 

“Now what do we do, genius?” Steve asked.

 

“Hell if I know. Ask Stark.”

 

Steve stood and walked out of their room, trying to find Tony, Bucky trailing quietly behind him.

 

“Tony?” he called.

 

“In here, Mama Rogers!” Tony called back.

 

Steve followed the sound of his voice to the living room, where Tony was applying a generous amount of whipped cream to Clint’s hand as Clint slept. “What are you doing?”

 

“Pranking. It’ll be funny.”

 

Steve shook his head, thinking of the tragic gleam to Clint’s eyes every time he looked at Steve. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

 

Tony straightened, looking at Steve in amusement. “Why not?”

 

“Clint’s not been having a great week.”

 

“Because Natasha left him? Whatever. This’ll totally cheer him up.”

 

“I’m not sure I’d take that risk if I were you. You do know how dangerous he could be if he wakes up and decides you were out of line.”

 

Tony shrugged. “Are you trying to nanny me? It looks good on you, Steven. Lots of I’m-In-Charge-And-You’re-Stupid vibes. Which I’m not. Stupid, that is.”

 

“Debatable,” Bucky coughed. “Why don’t you do something harmless to cheer him up?”

 

“Whipped cream is harmless,” Tony said defensively.

 

Steve raised an eyebrow.

 

“Please don’t nanny-face me,” Tony pleaded, holding his hands up. “Fine. If you want to go be a party pooper and it’ll make you happy if I stop, I’ll stop. Fucking hell. You can be such a hard-ass sometimes.”

 

Steve looked at his feet, trying not to tense visibly as he remembered Pietro Maximoff saying the same thing. _You can be such a hard-ass sometimes_. That was a week before he and Wanda ran away and froze to death.

 

Steve swallowed heavily and tried not to jump in surprise when Bucky put his hand on Steve’s lower back, looking at him searchingly.

 

Steve forced a smile. He didn’t really want to ever explain this to Bucky. He hadn’t even had to the first time around. Somebody from Zone 20 had briefed him. Now, though... Maybe it was best that Bucky didn’t know how bad of a person Steve really was.

 

He dismissed the thought almost immediately. Bucky deserved to know.

 

Tony was grumbling to himself as he cleaned the whipped cream off of Clint’s hand. “I’ll do something nice,” he was grumbling. “I’ll be the nicest person in this house. I’ll fucking show you. You’ll see.”

 

Figuring everything would be fine for the moment, Steve decided to abandon the idea of figuring out the tablet for now. Instead, he dragged Bucky back to their room and closed the door.

 

“So, what’s up?” Bucky asked, worried.

 

“There’s just something you should probably know about me,” Steve said, sitting on the floor and not meeting Bucky’s eye. “Way back when, I used to work alone. As a nanny, I mean. But then I fucked up really badly.”

 

Steve told Bucky about Peter Parker and the unnatural angle to his neck. He told him about Kamala Khan and how she wanted to see the Grand Canyon but never got the chance. He told him about Wanda and Pietro Maximoff, who ran away and went cold before Steve could find them.

 

“And then they sent you. To clean up my mistakes and make sure this shit never happened again. And you were good at it- damage control. Made me feel like I was less likely to explode.”

 

Bucky was quiet as he slowly lowered himself to sit next to Steve, their sides pressing together.

 

Steve dreaded what was about to come out of Bucky’s mouth, but was surprised when Bucky just said, “I should tell you about Zola.”

 

“You don’t have to do that.”

 

“I do,” Bucky said stubbornly. “I mean, I don’t remember the beginning and how he caught me or whatever, but I remember a lot of what happened. He told me I hadn’t been physically dead, but I’d been dead on the inside or something. That was why his necromancy worked so well on me. I was extremely compliant. I did whatever he asked, and he asked me to do a lot of bad things.”

 

Bucky was silent for a moment. He drew his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them.

 

“I killed a lot of people. And I never really felt horrible about it. I figured that if Zola wanted them dead, they should be dead.”

 

“Did he ever,” Steve began haltingly, not sure where this thought was taking him. “Did he ever-“

 

Bucky looked at him curiously. “Sure, he hurt me. He liked to reinforce his lessons with pain. I wouldn’t call it torture, though.”

 

“I would,” Steve said darkly.

 

“What I’m trying to say,” Bucky cut in, “is that you don’t have to worry. I’ve killed children too, Steve.” He looked away, and Steve noticed that he was trembling.

 

Steve wrapped an arm around Bucky’s shoulders, pulling him closer. “It was all my fault, though.”

 

“Like I’m _not_ at fault?”

 

“Zola _tortured_ you,” Steve snapped.

 

“If I’d been stronger-“

 

“No,” Steve said firmly. “This is not your fault.”

 

Bucky took a shuddering breath. “I wish I could believe you,” he whispered, so quietly that Steve thought he’d imagined it.

 

Steve wrapped his other arm around Bucky, pulling him into his lap. “Maybe one day, if I tell you enough, you will.”

 

Bucky’s shoulders started to shake, and it took Steve a moment to realize that he was crying. Steve stroked a hand down Bucky’s back, making hushing noises.

 

“I don’t deserve this,” Bucky gasped bitterly. “I don’t-“

 

“You deserve the world, Buck,” Steve whispered fiercely. “If I could give it to you, I would.”

 

Bucky just shook his head. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

 

 _Because I love you_. And Steve wasn’t shocked to realize that he meant the words with every ounce of his soul.

 

But he couldn’t say that. How could he? Steve wasn’t Bucky’s true love. That much was obvious. So, instead, Steve just buried his face in Bucky’s hair, hoping that could be enough.

 

When Bucky stopped crying, neither of them moved for a very long time.

 

* * *

 

 

“TONY GOT ME A PUPPY!” Clint shrieked in delight the next day, holding up a dog that looked like he was missing an eye and half of one ear.

 

Steve glanced at Tony, who was trying not to look nervous about the whole thing. “I figured a dog would help him stop whining.”

 

“His name is Lucky,” Clint added cheerfully.

 

Steve grinned fondly at them. “Good job, Tony.”

 

Tony tried to smother the smile that overtook his features and failed pretty spectacularly.

 

* * *

 

 

“Hey, Sam. You seen Bucky?” Steve asked tiredly as he slumped into the kitchen.

 

Sam shook his head. “No. Is he showering?”

 

Steve shook his head, starting to feel the panic rise. “No.”

 

Sam frowned, pausing in his pancake preparation. “I’m sure he just needed some air.”

 

Steve was sure that this was not what had happened. In fact, Steve was sure that Bucky was long-gone by now. He sank slowly onto a stool. “He’s gone.”

 

“He’ll be back,” Sam said firmly.

 

“I can’t... I can’t keep him here if he doesn’t want to be. I just wish he wanted to be.”

 

Sam placed his hands on Steve’s shoulders. “I know for a fact that Bucky does want to be here.” Steve shook his head. “He looks at you like you hung the moon.”

 

“He doesn’t,” Steve said bitterly. “I’m just familiar to him.”

 

“Or,” Sam pressed, “he decided he likes you for himself.”

 

Steve just shook his head again.

 

“Don’t jump to any conclusions. He may come back.”

 

Steve’s skin was crawling. “Yeah.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Bucky didn’t come back.

 

Steve was becoming a nervous wreck.

 

What if he was hurt? What if someone had found him and taken him back to Zola? But Zola was dead, right? Tony and Sam had made sure of it.

 

What if Bucky was dead? What if he was dead and there was nothing Steve could do to stop it?

 

Steve sat stiffly on the couch, staring into the middle-distance as a movie played on the television. Clint sat grumpily next to him, eating ice cream and cuddling close to Lucky.

 

“I can’t believe us,” Clint grumbled. “The love of my life left me after we finally started having sex.” Steve gave Clint an alarmed look. “And the love of your life left after things finally started looking better.”

 

Steve groaned. “Even if Bucky’s the love of my life, I’m not the love of his life.”

 

“Why do you figure that?” Clint asked, stroking Lucky’s ears.

 

“True love’s kiss. Didn’t work.”

 

“That sucks,” Clint said.

 

“Yeah,” Steve agreed. “It really does.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

When Steve saw Bucky again, it was because he literally ran into him in the aisle of a grocery store.

 

Bucky stepped away and sheepishly murmured, “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

 

Steve stared at him in shock for a long moment. “What are you doing here?” he finally asked.

 

“Grocery shopping,” Bucky said, not meeting Steve’s eye.

 

“Oh.”

 

“I guess I owe you an explanation?”

 

Steve swallowed. “You don’t owe me anything, Buck.”

 

“But I do,” Bucky said. “I couldn’t stay there anymore because I don’t deserve it.”

 

Steve’s eyebrows knitted together. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

 

But Bucky ignored him. “I just came back into your life as a completely different person than the one you were in love with-“

 

“ _What_?”

 

“-and took advantage of that. You let me stay because I’m familiar in this world of change. You let me stay because you used to love me, not because I actually deserved anything.”

 

Steve shrank in on himself. “You knew?” he asked in a small voice.

 

“I guessed. It was easy to be objective at first, and it was easy to see how you felt. Not so much anymore,” Bucky admitted.

 

“You’re wrong.”

 

“Am I?” Bucky said dryly.

 

“I mean, of course I wanted you there because of familiarity at first. I was going to lose my mind in Zone 21. You were the first thing that felt like home since I’ve gotten here.” Bucky scowled. “But,” Steve went on, “I realized that you’re different now. You’re still Bucky at the core, but so much of you has changed, so I was confused about how I felt.”

 

“And?” Bucky prompted.

 

Steve took a deep breath, squaring his shoulders, but he had never backed down from a fight before. “And I’m in love with you. Bucky, I have loved you in every single way someone can love another person. I love every version of you.”

 

Bucky laughed, and it was a bitter, hollow sound. “Who could love a ghost?”

 

Steve hesitantly reached out, grabbing Bucky’s metal wrist. “ _I_ could.”

 

Bucky sighed. “Only you,” he said in resignation. “Can I... Can I kiss you?”

 

Any remaining tension drained from Steve’s shoulders. “Yeah. _Yeah_.”

 

Bucky stood on the tips of his toes, loosely grabbing the back of Steve’s neck. Steve felt his eyes flutter shut, and the next thing he knew, Bucky’s mouth was gently pressing against his.

 

And Steve was home.

 

He wrapped his arms around Bucky’s waist, pulling him close as Bucky inhaled sharply against him. “Steve,” he whispered. “ _Stevie_.”

 

“Yeah?”

 

Bucky pulled back, eyes wide and shining. “I- you- we were-“

 

“Buck?”

 

A single tear escaped and slid down Bucky’s cheek. “The portals closed.”

 

Steve blinked, disoriented and confused. “What?”

 

Bucky laughed wetly. “After you left that last time. Some asshole closed the portals, and I thought you were trapped in the non-magical world. You left.”

 

Steve’s eyes went wide. “Bucky?”

 

“Holy fuck!” Bucky exclaimed. “I _volunteered_ for Zola’s experiments. I wanted him to kill me. Holy fucking shit!”

 

“You remember?” Steve asked, bewildered.

 

Bucky groaned. “Wow. Yeah, I think. Everything _hurts_.”

 

“I don’t understand.”

 

Bucky looked up at him hopefully. “True love’s kiss?” he reasoned.

 

“But... it didn’t work the first time.”

 

Bucky blinked. “ _That’s_ what that was? Jesus, Stevie, I was so confused. I had never had a target like that. I shoot you and you kiss me? I swear, I mostly stayed with you out of shock.”

 

Steve framed Bucky’s face with his hands. “Why didn’t it work the first time?”

 

Bucky tried to look away, suddenly embarrassed. “Maybe because I wasn’t in love with you yet.”

 

Steve opened his mouth to try to think of something to say to that, but gave up in favor of kissing Bucky again.

 

They were _so_ going to do this all the time.

 

“I love you,” Steve murmured against him. “So much.”

 

“I love you too,” Bucky whispered. “Wanna pay for my groceries? I’m kind of broke.”

 

Steve leaned back, beaming. “You’re a jackass. I’ll pay for anything you want if you’ll come back home with me.”

 

Bucky smiled brilliantly. “Yeah. I think I can manage that.”

 

* * *

 

 

Several months later, Natasha ran into the living room, looking frazzled, and said, “You guys have got to see this.”

 

Everyone followed her outside, and the sky was churning in a million different colors.

 

“What the fuck?” Tony squawked, hiding behind Pepper.

 

Steve looked at Bucky in surprise. “The portals to the non-magical world,” Bucky said.

 

Steve grinned. “Billy Kaplan. He must’ve finally got around to opening them.”

 

Bucky laced their fingers together, and they returned their gazes to the sky.

 

“Do you think it’ll go back to the way things used to be?” Steve asked.

 

“I dunno,” Bucky admitted.

 

“Will you stay with me if it does?” Steve asked hopefully.

 

Bucky smirked, leaning into his side. “Pal, even if it doesn’t. Wherever the wind blows, right?”

 

Steve couldn’t help but lean in for a kiss. “Right,” he murmured.

 

 

* * *

 

 

_“So, did he ever come back?”_

 

“No one knows. And I think I’d like to keep it that way.”

**Author's Note:**

> [I'm on tumblr.](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/thecommodoresquid)


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